"Yes, it is," said Hildegarde, boldly. "Come, now! I had a mutton chop. What did you have?"
"Beef tea," was the reply, with a brightening look of retrospective cheer, "and toasty strips!"
"Oh, how good!" cried Hilda. "I wish I had some. And what are you going to have for dinner?"
"Woast tsicken!" and here at last came a smile, which broadened into a laugh and ended in a chuckle, as Hilda performed a pantomime expressing rapture.
"I never heard of anything so good!" she cried. "And what are you going to eat it with,—two little sticks?"
"No-o!" cried Baby, with a disdainful laugh. "Wiz a worky, a weal worky."
"A walk!" said Hildegarde, puzzled.
"Es!" said Baby, proudly. "A atta worky, dess like people's!"
"Please, he means fork!" said a little girl, sidling up with a finger in her mouth. "Please, he's my brother, and we've both had tripod fever; and we're going home to-morrow."
"And the young lady must go home now," said Mrs. Murray, laying a kind hand on the little one's shoulder. "The man has come for you, Miss Grahame, and I don't know how to thank you enough for all the pleasure you have given these dear children."