“I like it,” was the reply.
“So do I,” said Mr Burne grimly. “It puts me in mind of being a good little boy, and going for a walk in Saint James’s Park with the nurse to feed the ducks, after which we used to feed ourselves at one of the lodges where they sold curds and whey. This is more like it than anything I have had since. I say, gently, young man, don’t eat everything on the table.”
“But I feel so hungry up here in the mountains,” cried Lawrence laughing.
“Very likely, sir,” said Mr Burne with mock austerity; “but that is no reason why you should try and create a famine in the land.”
“Let him eat; Burne,” said the professor; “he wants bone and muscle.”
“But he is eating wax,” cried Mr Burne sharply. “Let him eat chicken bone and muscle if he likes, and the flesh as well, but that would be no reason why he should eat the feathers.”
“I am only too glad to see him with a good appetite,” said the professor pushing the butter towards Lawrence with a smile.
“So am I. Of course. But I draw the line at wax. Confound it all, boy! be content with the honey.”
“I would,” said Lawrence with his mouth full; “but it is all so mixed up.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Mr Burne. “Are you going to have a look at those old stones, Preston?”