One of Bobbie's and Jerry's greatest treats was to have tea at the cottage on the edge of the park, where old Mrs. Funnel presided over a table covered with cakes and home-made delicacies.
She always liked them to appear in good time; so punctually at four o'clock on Friday, the invited tea-party—consisting of "Old Nurse," in a crackling black silk, Jerry in spotless frilled cotton, and Bobbie in a white sailor's suit, bristling with starch and pearl buttons—made their way through the little garden of the Funnels' house, and rapped importantly on the door with the end of nurse's umbrella.
Mrs. Funnel, who had been awaiting the summons, welcomed them heartily; and Bobbie was relieved to see—on taking a cursory glance at the table—that besides the usual array of good things, there was a covered dish, which meant, as he knew by experience—muffins.
Jeptha, in his Sunday coat, with a red geranium in his button-hole, looked cheerfully conscious of his own splendour; and his wife's little wrinkled face beamed with kindness and hospitality.
"Jim can't get away yet, I'm sorry to say," she said, "but he'll be in afterwards. Sit down, all of you, please. Draw up to the table, ma'am!"
Bobbie deposited his dog-skin gloves carefully in his hat, and seated himself solemnly, trying to keep his eyes off the plum cake, for the sake of good manners.
"This bread's a bit heavy, mother!" remarked Jeptha, grappling with a large loaf in the centre of the table.
"I don't know how that can be," replied Mrs. Funnel cheerfully. "It rose enough."
"Then it must ha' sat down again!" said Jeptha. "It's that worritting oven, ma'am"—turning to nurse; "I assure you we do have a time with it sometimes."
The tea began merrily, and just in the middle of it the door opened, and James Seton's sunburnt face looked in. He carried a basket which Bobbie pounced upon eagerly, for he knew it contained the long-expected guinea-pigs.