"Gently, boys," he said. "Try to be a little quieter in your ways"; and he retired into his own room to take off his gown and bands.
Luncheon had been laid by Ellen, and Marget was pouring the master's beef-tea into a bowl.
"I've brocht as much as'll dae him tae," she whispered to Elizabeth, as she departed from the small hall, where tea and sandwiches were provided for people from a distance. The "him" referred to by Marget was standing with his monocle in his eye watching Buff and Billy who, clasped in each other's arms, were rolling on the sofa like two young bears, while Thomas hung absorbed over the cocoa-tin.
"Mr. Townshend, will you have some beef-tea, or cocoa? And do find a chair. The boys can all sit on the sofa, if we push the table nearer them."
"I don't want any hot water in my cup," said Thomas, who was stirring cocoa, milk, and sugar into a rich brown paste. "Try a lick," he said to Buff; "it's like chocolate."
Mr. Townshend found a chair, and said he would like some beef-tea, but refused a sausage roll, to the astonishment of the boys.
"The sausage-rolls are because of you," said Elizabeth reproachfully. "They are Marget's speciality, and she made them as a great favour. However, have a sandwich. Thomas"—to that youth, who was taking a sip of chocolate and a bite of sausage-roll turn about—"Thomas, you'll be a very sick man before long."
"Aw, well," said Thomas, "if I'm sick I'll no can go to school, and I'm happy just now, anyway."
"Thomas is a philosopher," said Arthur Townshend.
Mr. Seton had put his bowl of beef-tea on the mantelpiece to cool (it was rather like the Mad Tea-party, the Setons' lunch), and he turned round to ask which (if any) of the boys remembered the text.