Helen Grayson was too late; in the exuberance of his delight the boy relieved his excited feelings by turning the wheel again round the room, stopping, though, himself, as he reached the place where the doctor’s daughter was seated. “Well, why do you look at me like that?”
“I d’know. Feels nice,” said the boy. “I say, is that round-face gal your sister?”
“Oh no; she’s the servant.”
“I’m glad of that,” said the boy thoughtfully; “she won’t eat that cake, will she!”
Helen compressed her lips to control her mirth, and glanced at her father again, where he sat with his brow knit and lips pursed up thinking out his plans.
Maria entered now with the cake and milk, placing a tray on a little table, and going out to return to the housekeeper, saying—
“Pretty pass things is coming to when servants is expected to wait on workus boys.”
In the drawing-room the object of her annoyance was watching, with sparkling eyes, the movements of the knife with which Helen Grayson cut off a goodly wedge of the cake.
“There,” she said; “eat that, and sit quite still.”
The boy snatched the piece wolfishly, and was lifting it to his mouth, but he stopped suddenly and stretched out his hand—