“Oh, Robin! I don’t talk as badly as that,” said the more important Violet.
Robina sat down on the window-sill, and played to her heart’s content with the two. In this attitude Miss Jennings found them.
“Now, Robina—I forbid you to spoil those children. Violet don’t attempt to cry, or you shall leave the room. Rose, put on your pinafore at once, miss. Now come to the table, all three of you, and let us begin breakfast.”
Miss Jennings seated herself by the tea-tray. She littered a short grace, and then porridge was dispensed. Little Rose could not bear porridge, and at once began to whimper.
“Don’t cry!” said Miss Jennings. “If you do, you leave the room.”
“Eat up just a little bit, darling,” whispered Robina. “I have such jolly things to tell you afterwards. Has father come home?” continued Robina, fixing her eyes on her aunt’s face.
“Of course he has come home, my dear: why shouldn’t he come home? Don’t, I beg of you, Robina, ask silly questions. Your father has no other house to sleep in, therefore when he is sleepy, he comes home. He is in bed at the present moment, and goodness only knows when he will come down to breakfast.”
“Oh, I hope he will come down soon!” said Robina, “for I want him to open his letters.”
“Very impertinent and forward of you! Your father’s letters are not your concern.”
“Not always,” replied Robina, calmly, and helping herself to strawberry jam: “but those two happen to be.”