“What hour of the clock did thine Aunt bid thee rise, Jack?”
“Well, Sir,” responded Jack, screwing up one eye, as if the effort of memory were painful, “as near as I may remember, ’twas about one hundred and eighty minutes to seven of the clock.”
“Thou wilt come to ill, Jack, as sure as sure,” denounced Aunt Rachel, solemnly.
“I am come to breakfast, Aunt, and I shall come to dinner,” remarked Jack: “that is as sure as sure.”
Sir Thomas leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily, bidding Jack help himself; while Rachel shook her head ominously over Jack’s future. Jack stood up, surveyed the table, and proceeded to make a wide gash in an enormous pie. Just as he was laying down knife and spoon, and retiring with his spoils, he caught a glimpse of Clare, who sat studying him in some trepidation and much curiosity.
“Hallo! who are you?” was Jack’s unceremonious greeting.
“Wilt thou ne’er learn to behave thyself, lad?” corrected Rachel.
“You see, Aunt, none never learned me yet,” returned Jack coolly; looking at Clare in a manner which said, “I await your answer.”
Sir Thomas good-naturedly replied for her.
“’Tis thy new sister, my lad,—little Clare Avery. Play none of thy tricks on her, Jack.”