"Will you have some breakfast, Peter?" asked Mrs. Jourdain.
"Thank you, ma'am, I had my breakfast before I started, all alone by myself—but," looking at the nice beefsteak, "I think I could eat a little more."
"How many apples, by the way Peter?" asked Bella, mischievously.
"Only two," he answered, quite seriously, "and a piece of taffy, and two cents' worth of peanuts! that's all, I think; no, a cent's worth of ice cream!"
"Of ice cream!" exclaimed Bella, "where can you get ice cream for a cent?"
"Why, on the street corners—real good ice cream, too—don't you know that?" and Peter put on an air of superior wisdom, as though he was a knowing young gentleman, who understood better than anybody where nice things were to be had.
"But come, Peter," said Mr. Jourdain, "I should like to hear something more about your encampment. How long is your father willing you should have it?"
"Father says, sir," replied Peter, "that we can stay until he leaves for Niagara, which will be next week, I guess. We're to have our camp on the lawn, most a quarter of a mile from the house, and some of our men are fixing the tents this morning. There are to be eight of 'em—isn't that gay, Fred? and we've got the smoke house by way of a guard tent beside; but there—I forgot all this time that I have a letter from papa for you, sir—here it is."
Mr. Jourdain opened the letter, and read as follows:
My dear Jourdain: