"We'll toast the bread," she said. "Tea and toast is famous food."
She got an old, bent toasting-fork, and she and Ronald laughed and even joked a little as they browned the stale bread until it was quite crisp and tempting-looking.
"I'd ever so much rather have this tea than a great, big, grand one with Mammy Warren," said Connie.
"Yes, Connie," said the boy; "so would I."
They had no milk with their tea, but that was, after all but a small circumstance. They scraped out the jam-pot and spread its contents on the hot toast, and contrived to enjoy the slender meal to the utmost.
Ronald said nothing about breakfast the next morning; he doubtless did not even give it a thought. But Connie remembered it well, although she took care not to allude to it.
Ten o'clock struck, and still Agnes did not appear. Eleven, twelve—and no sign either of Mammy Warren or the girl.
"Shall we go to bed?" said Ronald.
"Let's bring our beds and lay 'em on the floor," said Connie, "in this room. Some'ow I don't think as Mammy Warren 'ull come back to-night. She wouldn't 'ave tuk all her things ef she meant to come; would she, Ronald?"
"I don't know," said Ronald. He was very sleepy, for the hour was terribly late for so young a child to be awake.