"We—we have," said Fanny, with a hysterical laugh, that ended in a sob; and at that Jessie and I put our napkins to our faces and began to sob too, while the boys looked at each other and smiled in a sickly sort of way.
"What does this mean, Ned?" said my father, laying down his napkin; and my mother nearly shivered a cup and saucer, she set it down so suddenly.
"Why, the—the portrait, you know, up in the attic—the Little Grandmother—has been talking to us, and we don't just know what it means," said Ned, making a strong effort to overcome his tremor.
"Talking to you! What did it say?" my father demanded again.
Here Phil came to the rescue, and said, sturdily, if not defiantly, "She said we were no gentlemen, sir."
"Gentlemen, indeed!" echoed Cousin Rob, in a sweet falsetto voice, from the end of the table; whereupon Ned, Phil, and Jamie rose in their seats, nearly overturning their chairs. Fanny and Jessie caught each other around the neck, and sobbed a short sob, with a little shriek at the end of it, and I fled crying to my mother.
It was a very trying scene. My father lost all patience, and my mother was in real distress, and as five or six were talking at the same moment, the matter became more and more hopeless, until Ned, who had gone over to speak to Rob at the end of the table, set up a clear, ringing, healthy laugh that silenced us all, and turned the force of my father's wrath full in that direction.
"Ned, we want no more of this nonsense. If this is one of your offensive practical jokes, explain at once."
"It's not mine—it's Rob's," cried Ned.
"Well, Robert?" said my father, trying to control himself.