"You're an awful selfish child, Doris," he said reproachfully, "an' that's worse 'an being rude; mother said so. It's worser 'an anything to be selfish. I wouldn't do it; guess I wouldn't!"
"I am not selfish!"
"You are, too!"
"Chil—dren!"
Their mother's vaguely admonitory voice caused the belligerents to slip meekly enough into their respective seats. They were hungry, and the soup smelled good. But their eyes and explorative toes continued the skirmish in a spirited manner.
"I had a letter from Evelyn Tripp to-day," Elizabeth was saying, as she fastened the children's long linen bibs. "——Sit up straight in your chair, Doris, and stop wriggling."
Sam Brewster cast an admonitory eye upon his son. "Evelyn Tripp!" he echoed, "I haven't heard you mention the lady in a long time."
"You know they left Boston last year and I hardly ever see her now-a-days. Poor Evelyn!"
"It is too bad," he said with mock solicitude. "Now, if you hardly ever saw me it would be 'poor Sam,' I suppose."
"The Tripps lost most of their money," she went on, ignoring his frivolous comment; "then they moved to Dorchester."