"Onondagas," persisted Peter, smearing his face with his spoon to lick it.
"Where is Silver Heels?" I asked.
Mistress Molly came into the hall from the pantry, keys jingling at her girdle, and took Peter by his sticky fingers, bidding Esk follow.
"Bed-time," she said, with her pretty smile. "Michael, Felicity is being dressed by Betty. If Sir William does not return, you will dine with Felicity alone; and I expect you to conduct exactly like Sir William, and refrain from kicking under the table."
"Yes, Aunt Molly," said I, delighted.
Esk and Peter, being instantly hustled bedward, left lamenting and asserting that they too were old enough to imitate Sir William.
Silver Heels, with her hair done by Betty, and a blue sash over her fresh-flowered cambric, passed them on the stairs coming down, pausing to wish Mistress Molly good-night, and to slyly pinch fat Peter.
"Felicity," said Mistress Molly, "will you conduct as befits your station?"
"Oh la, Aunt Molly!" she answered, with that innocent, affected lisp which I knew was ever the forerunner of mischief.
She made her reverence, waiting on the landing until she heard the nursery door close, then flung both legs astride the balustrade and slid down like a flash.