“No, uncle. Just as we left them. I almost wonder they didn’t carry off all those hydras.”
“Hydrae. Be careful about your Latin plurals. But look here, do you want me to box your ears?”
“No, uncle.”
“Then don’t give me any more of your impertinent allusions. Hum—hum—hum! Half-past six. Very early for breakfast. But I begin to feel a little appetitlich, as the Germans call it; don’t you?”
“Oh no, uncle,” said Rodd, very mildly. “You said last night that we had eaten enough to last twenty-four hours.”
“Now, look here, Rodney, you had the impudence to tell me a short time ago that I’d got out of bed the wrong way. I am afraid it’s you, sir, that have done that, and if you don’t take care we shall be having a very serious quarrel.—There! Run, quick! That kettle’s boiling over.”
But Rodd was half-way to the kitchen, and had snatched the kettle off before his uncle had finished speaking, warned of what was happening as he had been by the first angry hiss.
“It’s all right, uncle,” he cried. “No harm done!”
“But what’s become of that old woman? She ought to be here now, seeing about our breakfast.”
“Here she comes, uncle,” and through the window they could see their hostess hurrying back with a big basket from the direction of the neighbour’s cottage, and the next minute they heard her setting her load upon her white kitchen-table.