“It would be rather unkind to leave him out,” said Fay.
“He’d better look out if he comes under my notice,” said Andrew; “I’ll show him that I can pay off old scores.”
“Take care,” warned Phoena, “or you may get turned out of the Order and dubbed a false knight, for to revenge yourself on the weak would be breaking your vows, you know.”
“Oh! let’s have the poor little beggar in,” said Phil, good-naturedly. Marygold had been whispering so pleadingly in his ear.
“He is rather a Molly, you know,” objected Jack.
“And scarcely likely to be an ornament to the Order,” remarked Di.
“And very likely to be a bone of contention,” sighed Faith, who began to realise that there might be many objections to admitting Gaston to closer companionship with the older boys.
And so the motion for admitting Gaston into the noble company was not carried; but when, on the next afternoon, they held high festival in the Cuckoo Copse to inaugurate their Order, and Gaston, under Ruth’s protection, ran to and fro, a willing helper in carrying the good things which Mrs. Busson had provided for the feast, they all felt, as Phil expressed it, that it would be awfully mean to keep the wretched little chap out of their fun.
With infinite trouble Phoena had traced out a huge circle on the mossy ground, which was to represent the Round Table, and within this magic ring, all the viands were arranged also in a circle.
There were pyramids of strawberries and cherries, jugs of cream, currants in a snowstorm—a confection peculiar to Mrs. Busson, composed of whites of eggs beaten to a stiff snow and inlaid with clusters of crystallised red currants—there were fairy foolscaps, made of most transparent pastry, stuffed with cream and jam, there was thunder and lightning—clotted cream, intersected with flashes of apricot preserve—big bowls of curds and whey, with a magnificent dish of trifle to crown the centre of the table.