So I went down quite coolly and walked into the parlour, where my uncles were waiting for me before seating themselves at the table.
That touched me; it was so full of consideration and respect for the boy they were going to send away.
Plump, comfortable Mrs Stephenson was just ready to take off the bright tin dish-cover, and as she did so there was a perfect pile of fried ham and eggs, looking brown and white and pink and orange, and emitting a most appetising odour.
“Is Mr Jacob a bit sadly, gentlemen?” said Mrs Stephenson, looking at me with interest.
“Oh no,” I said quickly; and a bit touched too by Mrs Stephenson’s respectful way and the Mr “Only tired. I shall be all right when I’ve had my tea.”
“That’s bonnie,” she cried nodding. “I’d better butter a couple more cakes, hadn’t I, gentlemen?”
“That you had,” said Uncle Bob. “Let’s eat well, or we shall never be able to fight it out with your fellow-townsmen.”
“Ah, deary me, gentlemen,” she cried; “it’s sore work, that it is! I’m sure if they only knew what I do they’d behave better to you. Them trades is doing more harm than good.”
She bustled out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed Uncle Dick turned to me.
“Shake hands, Cob, my boy,” he said.