"Be quick," he said, "or I'll eat it all before you come. There's fluff for tea—strawberry fluff! At least I've been smelling it all the afternoon, and I saw a little pot going upstairs, and Martha said cook said it was for the children!"
Colin, however, was doomed to be disappointed.
There was no appearance of anything "better" than bread and butter on the nursery table, and in answer to the boy's questions, Martha said there was nothing else.
"But the little pot, Martha, the little pot," insisted Colin. "I heard you yourself say to cook, 'Then this is for the children?'"
"Well, yes, Master Colin, and so I did, and so it is for you. But I didn't say it was for to-day—it's for to-morrow, Sunday."
"Whoever heard of such a thing," said Colin. "Fluff won't keep. It should be eaten at once."
"But it's jam, Master Colin. It's regular jam in the little pot. I don't know anything about the fluff, as you call it. I suppose they've eaten it in the kitchen."
"Well, then, it's a shame," said Colin. "It's all the new cook. I've always been accustomed, always, to have the fluff sent up to the nursery," and he thumped impressively on the table.
"In all your places, Master Colin, it was always so, wasn't it?" said Martha, with a twinkle of fun in her eyes.
"You're very impettnent, Martha," said Rosy, looking up suddenly, and speaking for the first time since she had come into the room.