A faint pipe was heard in reply. "Don't—want—any—tea!"
The second roar was still calm, but peremptory. "Come—in!"
Slowly, very slowly, the oars rose and fell, and the boat crept over the water. What could be the matter with the children?
"Too much bloodshed has upset the gallant England!" said Phil. "When it comes to Willy's not wanting his tea!"
"They have had some accident!" said Mr. Merryweather. "Broken an oar, probably, or lost a rowlock. No. They are both rowing. Well, here they come."
The whole family started for the wharf, but a piteous wail arose from the now approaching boat.
"Please don't everybody come down! we want just Papa and Mamma."
"Stay here, dear people, please!" said Mrs. Merryweather; and both parents hurried down to the wharf, toward which two dejected little figures were now tugging a very heavy boat.
"What's the matter, Will?" said Mr. Merryweather. "Speak up, son."
"We—spilt the milk!" said Willy, in a carefully measured tone.