“I’ll get it if Paul is tired,” proposed Molly good-naturedly, and somewhat to the children’s surprise the offer was accepted.
Paul swallowed the medicine, over which he made a wry face, and dinner began.
“Take your soup, Paul dear,” his mother admonished gently; “you are only playing with it.”
“There’s rice in it,” objected Paul; “I hate rice.”
Grandma frowned.
“Little boys should learn to eat what is put before them, and not make remarks about their food,” she said, reprovingly. If this remark had been addressed to Molly or Maud, she would have been reduced to instant submission. Not so Paul.
“I never eat things I don’t like,” he said, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. “A great many things disagree with me, don’t they, Mother?”
“I am afraid they do,” answered Mrs. Chester, with a sigh. “And that reminds me, Mother, he must have squeezed meat every day for his lunch, and I always let him have ice-cream at least three times a week. The doctor considers it good for him.”
Maud’s lips moved, and the other children were sure they could read the words “Goody, goody!” but the grown-ups noticed nothing, and if Grandma made no promises, she at least made no objections, which, as Molly said afterwards, was almost as good as saying yes. It was wonderful how much more lenient Grandma was to Paul than she had ever been to the four little girls.
“Well, Paul, what have you been reading lately?” inquired Aunt Kate, when the soup question had been finally settled, by Mary’s taking the plate away to the pantry, in order to remove the objectionable rice.