"May we?" asked Willie, with big grief in his voice, and big tears in his pleading eyes.
"No; you can wait just as well," replied Mrs. Royden. "If you tease or cry, remember what we do with little boys that will not be good. Hush, now!"
Notwithstanding this dark hint of the closet, Willie burst into tears, and lifted up his voice in lamentation.
"Hepsy!" cried Mrs. Royden, "take him into the kitchen."
Extreme severity transformed Willie's grief into rage. The cake which had been given him as a slight compensation and comfort for the martyrdom of waiting he threw upon the floor, and crushed beneath his feet.
Mrs. Royden started up, with fire in her eyes; but her husband stayed her.
"Who blames the boy?" he said. "He is hungry and cross. Come, Willie, bring your chair, and sit here by me."
The idea had, by this time, insinuated itself into Mr. Kerchey's brain that the children were made to wait out of deference to him. Mrs. Royden might consider him as one of the calumniated class of bachelors who detest the light of little blue eyes, and hate the prattle of innocent tongues. After one or two attempts to speak, he succeeded in articulating, "I—I think it would be—would be—ah—pleasant to have the children at the table."
"It is so annoying to be troubled with them when we have company!" murmured Mrs. Royden, relenting. "Well, Hepsy, bring their plates."
To see the happiness shining in the little fellow's eyes, which were as yet hardly dry, must have been sufficient to soften any grim old bachelor's heart. Mr. Kerchey struggled to express his gratification, in order not to be outdone by the cheerful and talkative clergyman; but he could only smile in an embarrassed manner upon the boys, and coin these tough and leaden syllables: