"I say," cried George, "that's not your dinner, is it? Why it's nothing but bread and milk!"
"My appetite is going strangely," observed Mr. Henry. "Slops seem to suit me best now."
George's great grey eyes flashed out a look of yearning. "Arthur! you have been starving yourself for us—that we may have plenty!"
"Don't be indiscreet; there's no Arthur here," returned Mr. Henry, with a light smile. "I am eating bread and milk to-day, George, because I feel ill: that's all. Run home."
Easily reassured—as it was in his age and nature to be—George Paradyne went flying off. In turning the angle by the chapel at a sharp canter, he came full tilt against Sir Simon Orville, who was walking towards his home.
"Holloa, young sir! Don't run me down. I am not a ship."
George laughed, begged his pardon, and was passing on, when Sir Simon stopped him.
"Here, George; don't fly off again as if you were wound up to go on wheels. What is this matter about your not going up for the Orville?"
"I don't understand you, Sir Simon."
"Are you going up for it?"