“Good news, mother. That’s cheering,” said Leslie. “I have had such a cross day.”
“Cross—what do you mean?” said Kitty. “Do tell us, Leslie, what can have happened. Didn’t you get on with your pupils?”
“No, they were contrary; they would play and would not learn. I didn’t seem to have any control over them. Mother, dear, I am sick of teaching!”
“What rot!” cried Llewellyn. “One must go on with a thing whether one is sick or not.”
“Oh, I know, Lew, dear old boy, and I really don’t mean to grumble; only I felt cross and I am owning to it. I don’t feel cross now,” added the girl.
She helped herself to brown bread and butter. Kitty put a quantity of honey on her plate. Tea came to an end presently, and then the children in orderly file began to remove the tea-things.
In less than a quarter of an hour the little parlor—they always sat in the parlor in the evenings—was looking as snug and comfortable as a room could look. The lamp, beautifully trimmed and burning clearly, stood on the center table, the red curtains were drawn round the windows; a fire, blazing merrily, gave a final touch of cheerfulness to the pleasant room.
“Now, then, mother, get into your own special chair and tell us the news,” said Leslie.—“Llewellyn, you are not going away, are you?”
“No,” said Llewellyn.
“But before you begin, mother, do wait for us,” cried Mabel. “Kitty and I must go upstairs to turn down the beds, and then I must see Elfreda in order to get her to put the fish in soak for to-morrow’s breakfast. She does forget things so dreadfully.”