CHAPTER XI.
THE SECOND CONQUEST.
The boys came home late for tea that night, bubbling over with joy. Basil declared that they did not want any supper. "Mrs. Peyton gave us some of her supper. I say, Cousin Margaret, isn't she bully?"
"Basil, if you could find another adjective now and then! I cannot imagine anything less appropriate to Mrs. Peyton than—the one you used."
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter! She is bully! She had broiled chicken, a whole one, and she just took a little piece off the breast for herself, and then she told Mert and me each to take a leg and run. And we did! And Mert sat down in the china bath-tub with his, and smashed it,—cracked it, at least,—and she said she didn't care."
"And the table-drawer was full of chocolate peppermints," chimed in Merton, "and we ate so many, I don't feel very well now, I think, p'r'aps."
"And she told us lots of things!" cried Basil again; he looked towards Miss Sophronia, with sparkling eyes. "She told us about when she was a little girl, and used to stay here, when Uncle John's puppa and mumma were alive. I say! And you were here, too, she said, Cousin Sophronia. And she said—lots of things!" The boy stopped suddenly, and gave his brother a look of intelligence.
"Ho!" said Merton, "I know what you mean,—you mean about the ghost, that scared—I say! You stop pinching, will you? I'll punch your—"
"Merton!" said Margaret, warningly.