Still he lingered.
"Well, if you're very tired—I'll bring it up if you want me to."
"No, I say I'll get up. Run along."
"I'd just as soon bring it up—"
"Run along!"
She laughed as he shut the door, and sprang up, to see if she could make it in ten minutes. It was rather more than that, but she got down to find the three boys at the breakfast-table; and Jim rose and pulled out her chair for her, a mark of special favour. A bright fire crackled in the chimney, the silver coffee-urn hissed cheerfully in the middle of the table; the room was warm and pleasant, with the rain beating against the windows. The boys all smiled at her, and Jim, showing his big white teeth, passed his cup for more coffee. One cup was his allowance, but she filled it up.
"What a night!" she said. "Did you hear the wind? I couldn't sleep—could you?"
They had all slept like tops, hadn't noticed any wind, that is, only John had noticed it. "I like storms," he said. "I like a big storm, but it doesn't keep me awake. I'd like to be out on the lake in a big wind."
"Yes, you would," murmured Timothy sceptically.