"Did you? From Pansy?"
"Yeth." And the bunch of ruffles and brown ribbon shook its head with distinctive force, while the bits of slippered feet began to dance wildly up and down the hall.
"Mama'll come," said the judge, warningly, and, sure enough, out came a lady, with the loveliest face, and a white lace cap on her grey hair.
"Come, dears," she said, in a voice we know well and both flew to her, for who was dearer to their loving hearts than "Dramma?" "Time for little birdies to be eating supper, and getting little peepers shut up tight, before Santa Claus comes," she said, going towards the dining room, with a little hopper clinging to each hand, and playing peep around her. Tom was already at the table, pounding with his spoon, and smiling serenely through the milk that spattered his face from forehead to chin, and there were two other bowls and spoons and high chairs, ready and waiting.
"Naughty Louise," said Mrs. Kittie, as she lifted the white-robed morsel to her chair, and tied on her bib. "Run away from poor sister Pansy, and make her feel bad."
"All baddy, mama?" inquired Louise, looking over her bowl with repentant eyes.
"She comed in the front door," said Philip, otherwise the judge, who was the eldest hopeful of the Barnett household, and was, at present, under the care of aunt Kathy, as mama Bea had the baby in the sitting-room. "I thaw her," he went on to explain with care; but was evidently disgusted, that every one laughed and talked, instead of listening to him; so paused right there, and ate his bread and milk in silence and with dignity, not even unbending when Tom and Louise had a skirmish, and testified their cousinly regard, by throwing their spoons at each other, and upsetting what milk had been left in their bowls.
"Dear me, what children!" cried Kittie, running for a towel, with a laugh that sounded as though "such children" were very delightful.
"Thomas, Thomas!" said Mrs. Kat, with an air of grave reproof, such as she sometimes wasted on her lively son; and Thomas looked up at her, with roguish eyes, brimful of mischief, and fairly crowed with glee, a method of expression that he resorted to in gay moments, as it was still an exertion for him to talk.
When the young people were finally carried off to bed, every one went along, for the gentlemen were all down town, and what better could the mothers and aunties do than follow the procession headed by "Dramma," and watch the roguish imps get into their snowy little nests? There was much skirmishing and crowing, but it all ended in a doleful wail, for Tom fell out of bed and bumped his precious head, and refused to be comforted, in any way, shape, or form, until Philip was heard to remark with admiration: