"Well, my dear, did your Grannie send any message to me? What sort of journey did you have? How did those boots wear? Now did you——?"
"Betty's too tired to talk just yet, I think," interposes her father, coming in that moment. "She'll tell us everything after tea."
Indeed, Betty does feel dreadfully tired. The noise and confusion bewilder her. Every one seems to be talking at once. It is all so different from the quiet orderliness of Grannie's home.
The knives are brought at last, the tea made, and for awhile the younger children are too busy with their bread and butter even for talk.
Tea over, however, the tumult begins afresh. The tea-things are just pushed to one side of the table, and then mother begins to unpack the bag.
Shrieks of delight greet the various packages, the table is soon strewn with Grannie's good things. The paper is torn from the cake; Bob seizes on a great pot of blackberry jam, bumps against a chair and drops the pot with a crash to the floor. The sticky mess, mixed with broken glass, spreads slowly over the carpet.
"There you go, you tiresome boy!" cries mother fretfully. "Always smashing something, always spoiling things. If you eat a bit of it you'll swallow broken glass, and serve you right. Lucy, ask Clara for a duster and pail of water to mop up the mess. Who told you to touch that cake, Pollie? Jennie, how dare you meddle with the honey—you'll overset that next! I don't believe there ever were such rude, tiresome, disobedient children! I'm sure I don't know what to do with you all. Harry, Jennie, Pollie, I won't have that cake eaten to-night! You shall all just pack off to bed."
The younger children sober down a little at this threat, and presently, between coaxings, and slappings, and the promise of unlimited cake to-morrow, they go off noisily to bed.
How thankful Betty is when she manages at last to escape to her own little room, and lays her weary head on her pillow!
She is utterly tired out. Too tired to remember any of her good resolutions; too tired even to think.