Lyndsay declared that he had observed the resemblance.
“And the boys inherit our goodness,” added Anne, demurely. “At least, it seemed to me I had evidence of it pretty early to-day; but then the hymn says, ‘Let boys delight to bark and bite.’ I disremember the rest, as Peter, our cook, says.” At this Ned gave his aunt’s gown a gentle pull, by way of respectfully intimating that she was getting them into difficulties.
“‘Let’ is permissive,” she went on. “I was not really disturbed, Archie”; for her brother was now curiously regarding a rather distinct scratch on Dick’s ruddy cheek.
“Raspberry thorns, Dicky?” he said, maliciously.
“No, sir.”
“Sleep-cats,” said Anne. “That was always our nursery explanation.”
“What then? Another row? I thought we had had enough for a week.”
“And on Sunday morning, Dick!” said the mother. “I wouldn’t.”
Anne looked up, amused at this latter declaration.
“Never mind, Margaret,” said her husband. “What was it about, boys?”