"She sneaked that from the cake course," gurgled the hen from my back. "My! how good it tastes. It's raspberry shortcake. That Jap certainly knows how to cook. I hope I'll get something more."
I paid little attention to Biddy, for I was eyeing Mr. Devering and grieving over something he had just said, "This is lamb, my boy. We are as bad as the wolf."
The nice man was biting his lip now. He remembered how terribly my young master had felt about his cowardice, but who can recall the spoken word?
Dallas was in a fine state of nerves. He had been so happy in coming to his own at last by being one of an interesting group of boys and girls. Now the charm was broken. He grew red and fussed about his seat, his appetite all gone.
The children were all speaking at once, "Wolf! what wolf, Dad?"
Mr. Devering struggled with the joint for a few seconds, then he said shortly, "Up Deer Trail."
"What were you up there for, Dad? Is that where you went with Dallas? I wish you'd taken us. We love that trail."
More questions and more remarks were showered upon the poor man, but he went on carving silently.
My young master, instead of leaving matters to this clever man, was unfortunate enough to open his young mouth and put his foot in it. To please these dear cousins was his burning desire, therefore he thought he must create a sensation, so with a heightened color he announced solemnly, "We were after the lamb."
Mr. Devering rolled his eyes at him, but said nothing, while the children just shrieked, "Not Lammie-noo. He isn't alive, is he? Dad, you said he must be dead."