I found my mother and Virginia sitting in the nice clean room, the fire blazing cheerfully and the breakfast on the table, and I could not help making the contrast in my own mind between it and the dirty abode I had just left. I ran into the back kitchen to wash my face and hands, and then returned, kissed Virginia, and wished my mother “good morning.” Why, I do not know, but she was in one of her worst of humours.
“Don’t come near me, or near your sister Virginia,” said she sharply; “who knows what vermin you may have brought from where you have been staying all night?”
I did feel that what she said might be true.
“Well, mother,” said I, “I won’t come near you if you don’t like, but I want some tea for poor old Nanny.”
“I can’t find tea for old Nannies,” replied she.
“I’ll give her mine, Jack,” cried Virginia.
“Indeed, miss, you’ll do no such thing,” said my mother; “and sit up properly to table, instead of hanging your head down in that way; and don’t pour your tea in your saucer—that’s vulgar!”
“The tea’s so hot, mamma!” said Virginia.
“Then wait till it’s cool, miss. Leave the teapot alone, sir!”
“I’ll thank you for some tea, mother,” replied I. “I shall give my breakfast to old Nanny.”