“Gammon!” said Jim laughing. “D’you mean to say I can’t look after them, Brownie?”
“I’d rather not say anythink rash, Master Jim,” rejoined Mrs. Brown with a twinkle.
“I guess Mrs. Brown’s got the measure of your foot, old man,” grinned Harry.
“Oh, well,” said Jim resignedly, “a chap never gets his due in this world. I forgive you, Brownie, though you don’t deserve it. Got a nice tea for us?”
“Sech as it is, Master Jim, it’s waitin’ on you,” said Mrs. Brown, with point.
“That’s what you might call a broad hint,” cried Jim. “Come on, chaps—race you for a wash-up!”
They scattered, Mrs. Brown laying violent hands on the indignant Norah, and insisting on arraying her in a clean frock, which the victim resisted, as totally unnecessary. Mrs. Brown carried her point, however, and a trim little maiden joined the boys in the dining-room five minutes later.
Mrs. Brown’s cooking was notable, and she had excelled herself over the boys’ farewell tea. A big cold turkey sat side by side with a ham of majestic dimensions, while the cool green of a salad was tempting after the hot walk. There were jellies, and a big bowl of fruit salad, while the centre of the table was occupied by a tall cake, raising aloft glittering white tiers. There were scones and tarts and wee cakes, and dishes of fresh fruit, and altogether the boys whistled long and softly, and declared that “Brownie was no end of a brick!”
Whereat Mrs. Brown, hovering about to see that her charges wanted nothing, smiled and blushed, and said, “Get on, now, do!”
Jim carved, and Jim’s carving was something to marvel at. No method came amiss to him. When he could cut straight he did; at other times he sawed; and, when it seemed necessary, he dug. After he had finished helping every one, Wally said that the turkey looked as if a dog had been at it, and the ham was worse, which remarks Jim meekly accepted as his due. Nor did the inartistic appearance of the turkey prevent the critic from coming back for more!