The chorus of “yes!” was startling.
“Then silence for grace,” roared the host; and then, rapidly, “What we’re going to receive make us truly thankful. Amen. Lots of plates here!”
Before he finished, his great carving-knife was playing a tune in that skilful way peculiar to butchers, upon a silver-mounted steel, while the vicar looked aghast and George Canninge stooped down to hide a smile.
It was quite an insult when the vicar was present but in the innocency of his heart, Mr William Forth Burge was hoping the joints were done, and eager to begin.
“Now, gentlemen, carve away, please,” he shouted. “Other ladies and gentlemen and servants, please pass the plates and ’taters. I want the youngsters to have a good dinner to-day. Now, Thomas,” he cried to his coachman, who had just set down a pile of plates, “you lay hold of that—that spoon, and do nothing but ladle out gravy to every plate.”
As he spoke, he was slicing off in the most skilful way prime sirloin of beef, and, smiling with delight, he said that it was done to a turn, as he called it.
“I chose every joint myself,” he said to one. “Pass the plates quick. See that they have plenty of ’taters, ladies. Eat away, girls.”
The visitors, after a few moments’ awkward hesitation, turned themselves into waiters, and the carvers had a tremendous time, for quite two hundred hearty girls and boys were eating with all the enjoyment of their young healthy appetites.
“More! That’s right!” cried the young squire. “I beg your pardon, Miss—I really don’t know your name; I’m afraid I’ve splashed your dress.”
“Pray don’t mention it,” said Hazel quietly, for she had been busily handing plates, looking brighter and happier than she had appeared for months.