Nokes outdares Stokes in azure feats,—
Both gorge. Who fished the murex up?
What porridge had John Keats?”
The deep sigh that accompanied the third vain reading of it, disturbed Peter in his occupation of putting flies in the ink, fishing them out, and letting them crawl over to Poppet.
Poppet at her side of the table was similarly occupied, only she had captured a March-fly, and it made beautifully clear tracks right across to Peter.
“Is your sum finished, Poppet?” Meg said abstractedly, pondering even as she spoke, what Keats, who was a god to her, had to do with porridge.
Poppet put her hand over the March-fly and confessed it was not quite.
“How many rows have you done?”
The answer came in a whisper, “Not quite one.”
“I shall keep you in to do it then after four,” [49] ]Meg said in her sternest voice; “and, [Peter,] look at your copy.”