Peggy, after breakfast, had to tell all the story of her adventure in the forest to Father and Johnnie. Reginald Fitzroy himself would not have listened to the best story in creation until he had first satisfied the cravings of nature and worked in a good meal. And Johnnie Fitzroy took after the old man. Besides, the boy—a very handsome lad of fourteen, but tall for his years—had been far away among the rocks that morning fishing, with nothing worth mentioning on him, except a pair of brown bare legs and a sou’wester hat, from which the fair front locks of his irrepressible hair hung down and wouldn’t be controlled.
He was late for breakfast, of course, but he threw down a great string of flat fish in the corner of the tent by way of apology.
His father smiled fondly on his boy.
“Been up early, lad?”
“Ay, Dad, ’fore four o’clock. Went to bed at seven last night, you know, just on purpose.”
“Did you wash your face in the May dew, Johnnie?”
The boy looked at her, half disdainfully. He was a trifle tired, but he was very fond of sweet Peggy.
“Did I wash my face in the May dew, Johnnie!” he answered. “Just think of a boy doing anything so ridiculously silly. Humph!”
Then, seeing what looked like a tear in Peggy’s eye, he jumped off his seat, and ran round the table and kissed her.
“Never mind me, cousin Peggy. I’m ill-tempered because I’m hungry, and because a lobster grabbed my big toe and cut it. Look!”