Thomas stopped eating. "Will she get a prize, Mr. Seton?" he asked.
James Seton looked down into the solemn china-blue eyes raised to his own and said, seriously and as if to an equal:
"I think she will, Thomas—the prize of her high calling in Jesus Christ."
Thomas went on with his bread-and-butter, and a silence fell on the company. It was broken by a startled cry from Elizabeth.
"Have you hurt yourself, girl?" asked her father.
"No, no. It's Mrs. Veitch's scones. To think I've forgotten them! She sent them to you, Father, for your tea. Buff, run—no, I'll go myself;" and Elizabeth left the room, to return in a moment with the paper-bagful of scones.
"I had finished," said Mr. Seton meekly.
"We'll all have to begin again," said his daughter. "Thomas, you could eat a bit of treacle scone, I know."
"The scones will keep till to-morrow," Miss Christie reminded her.
"Yes," said Elizabeth, "but Mrs. Veitch will perhaps be thinking we are having them to-night, and I would feel mean to neglect her present. You needn't smile in that superior way, Kirsty Christie."