Nobody heard the ejaculation, however, save Hallam, and he didn't count, being of one and the same opinion as the old serving-woman. All the lad's ambitions lay toward a ceaseless activity, and the coloring of canvases attracted him less than even the meanest kind of manual labor.
Nor did Amy share in her father's hope, though she loved art for his sake, and she answered, with conviction:—
"Never such an one as you are, father dear."
But all this while the daughter's eyes had been studying her mother's face, with the keen penetration of sympathy, and the whispered advice:—
"Be especially gentle with Hallam to-night, my child," but confirmed the answer she had already found in that careworn countenance.
Yet Hallam showed no need of consolation as he sturdily stumped across the room and exclaimed, cheerfully enough:—
"Fetch on the provender, Goodsoul. We're all as hungry as bears. What's for us?"
"What should be? save the best rasher of bacon ever blessed eyesight, with tea-biscuits galore. For second course—My! but that pullet was a tender bird, so she was. An' them east-lot petaties would fain melt in your mouth, they're so hot-foot to be ate."
"The pullet? Not the little brown one you have cared for yourself, Cleena?"