'Don't whistle at table, papa;' 'keep your hands still mamma;' 'wait till you are helped, sir;' 'tuck your napkin well in, and don't spill your soup, Caroline.'
Aunt Betsey laughed till her eyes were full, and they had a jolly time, though the little people had the best of it, for the others obeyed them in spite of their dislike to the new rules.
'Now you may play for two hours,' was the gracious order issued as they rose from table.
Mamma fell upon a sofa exhausted, and papa hurried to read his paper in the shady garden.
Usually these hours of apparent freedom were spoilt by constant calls,—not to run, not to play this or that, or frequent calls to do errands. The children had mercy, however, and left them in peace; which was a wise move on the whole, for the poor souls found rest so agreeable they privately resolved to let the children alone in their play-hours.
'Can I go over and see Mr. Hammond?' asked papa, wishing to use up the last half-hour of his time by a neighbourly call.
'No; I don't like Tommy Hammond, so I don't wish you to play with his father,' said Harry, with a sly twinkle of the eye, as he turned the tables on his papa.
Mr. Fairbairn gave a low whistle and retired to the barn, where Harry followed him, and ordered the man to harness up old Bill.
'Going to drive, sir?' asked papa, respectfully.
'Don't ask questions,' was all the answer he got.