Josephine thought he was talking queerly, but said nothing; only followed him slowly to the breakfast room, which Peter had done his best to make cheerful.
Mr. Smith sat down at table and began to open the pile of letters which lay beside his plate. Then he unfolded his newspaper, looked at a few items, and sipped his coffee. He had forgotten Josephine, though she had not forgotten him, and sat waiting until such time as it should please him to ask the blessing.
For the sake of her patient yet eager face, Peter took an unheard-of liberty: he nudged his master’s shoulder.
“Hey? What? Peter!” angrily demanded Mr. Smith.
“Yes, suh. Certainly, suh. But I reckon little missy won’t eat withouten it.”
It was almost as disagreeable to the gentleman to be reminded of his duty, and that, too, by a servant, as to suffer his present physical pangs. But he swallowed the lesson with the remainder of his coffee, and bowed his head, resolving that never again while that brown-eyed child sat opposite him should such a reminder be necessary.
As before, with the conclusion of the simple grace, Josephine’s tongue and appetite were released from guard, and she commented:
“This is an awful funny Baltimore, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Do you always state a thing and then ask it?” returned Uncle Joe, crisply.
“I ’xpect I do ask a heap of questions. Mamma has to correct me sometimes. But I can’t help it, can I? How shall I know things I don’t know if I don’t ask folks that do know, you know?”