“Mercy me!” said Mother. “Off to bed, both of you.”
And, bundled in the white shawl, the triumphant Roger was borne upstairs, Lydia hopping alongside, delighted with this unexpected turn of affairs.
“Roger is visiting us, Mother says,” explained Lydia the next morning, as she and Roger paid an early morning call upon Friend Deborah in her spotless kitchen, “but Roger says he has come to stay.”
The little boy, his eyes fixed upon a bowl of peaches, nodded.
“I like it here,” he said gravely. “I like Lydia. I like my new mother and father. I like peaches, too.”
“You mustn’t say that!” cried Lydia, scandalized. “It isn’t polite. You mustn’t ask, ever.”
“I didn’t ask,” returned Roger stoutly. “I only said I liked.”
But Lydia sighed, as if she had all the cares of a large family upon her shoulders. Roger must be taught so many lessons in politeness, and his table manners needed constant attention.
“Just watch me, Roger,” instructed Lydia. “Do just what I do.”
But at last Roger tired of her corrections.