The little man struggled to his feet, bowed and bowed again, tried to make one of his pretty speeches, failed, and hiding his face in his sleeve went trot, trotting in a funny way toward the kitchen, his carrots toppling from the basket as he ran.
Mrs. Devering's face was bright and shining. "Girlie," she said, "when you grow up to be a woman, you will never wear more beautiful jewels than those tears glistening in that little man's eyes."
The merry-eyed Dovey was very matter-of-fact. "Bingi's a good cook," she said. "I hope he's got something nice for breakfast—I'm starving. Can't we have it, Mummy? The kids are coming up from the water."
I stepped along to my young master's window. He was brushing his hair with his military brushes as if he would tear it all out, and singing as he did so,
"Oh! the wild wild kiddies!
Oh! the wild wild kiddies!
They have made a wild boy of me!"
Then he danced along to the table on the veranda and set the electric toaster going, as that was his task.
"When's Dad coming?" Champ asked his mother. "I hate Big Chief's carving. He doesn't give me half enough."