“They came by post, just now, my love,” Mrs. Baines said firmly.
“Oh, you are much too kind, Aunt Anne. But you will spoil the children, you will indeed, as well as their digestions. You are much too good to them; but we shall have to send them away if you corrupt them in this delicious manner.”
“It is most nutritious, I assure you,” Aunt Anne answered, with great gravity, while with dogged and desperate haste she piled more and more cream on to Monty’s plate. “I thought you would like it, Florence. I have ordered three pounds to be sent in one-pound tins at intervals of three days. I hoped that you would think it good for the dear children, that they would have your approbation in eating it.”
“Of course, and I shall eat some too,” Florence answered, trying to chase away Aunt Anne’s earnestness; “only you are much too good to them.”
The old lady looked up with a tender smile on her face.
“It is not possible to be good enough to your children, my darling—yours and Walter’s.”
“Dear Walter,” said Florence, as she rose from the table, “I shall be glad to get his letter. Now, my monkeys, my vagabonds, my darlings, go upstairs and tell nurse to take you out at once to see the trees and the ducks in the pond; go along, go along,” and she ran playfully after the children.
“May I go and buy my horse?” asked Monty; “and I think I shall buy a sword too. I want to kill a man.”
“He is just like his father!” exclaimed Aunt Anne. “What is Catty going to do with her money?” she asked.
“Give it to mummy,” the child answered softly.