At such times Tony was of the opinion that there were far too many women in the world.
On this particular morning, too, he felt injured because of something that had happened at breakfast.
It was always a joy to Meg and Jan that whatever poor Fay might have left undone in the matter of disciplining her children, she had at least taught them to eat nicely. Little Fay's management of a spoon was a joy to watch. The dimpled baby hand was so deft, the turn of the plump wrist so sure and purposeful. She never spilled or slopped her food about. Its journey from bowl to little red mouth was calculated and assured. Both children had a horror of anything sticky, and would refuse jam unless it was "well covelled in a sangwidge."
That very morning Jan and Meg exchanged congratulatory glances over their well-behaved charges, sitting side by side.
Then, all at once, with a swift, sure movement, little Fay stretched up and deposited a spoonful of exceedingly hot porridge exactly on the top of her brother's head, with a smart tap.
Tony's hair was always short, and had been cut on Saturday, and the hot mixture ran down into his eyes, which filled him with rage.
He tried to get out of his high chair, exclaiming angrily, "Let me get at her to box her!"
Jan held him down with one hand while she wiped away the offending mess with the other, and all the time Tony cried in crescendo, "Let me get at her!"
Little Fay, quite unmoved, continued to eat her porridge with studied elegance, and in gently