"If he finks we're goin' all that way round twice a day, he's jolly w'ong," remarked Sandy injuredly. "We'd have to start hours an' hours earlier—not us!"
Again the door opened, and a tall man came in, whose first look of anxious inquiry was directed towards the table where his papers were lying. Sandy's impatient elbow was dug into the middle of them, as he fidgeted about on one leg. Mr. Bethune sat down in the three-cornered chair before the table, and rescued his papers, at the same time keeping Sandy by his side.
"So you two have been in mischief again?" he said gently, looking gravely at his sons.
"I'm afraid David has been rude, too," put in the mother, a little anxiously.
David, with a put-on air of unconcern, looked out of the window, where two more sturdy boys, younger, but made after the same pattern as the two inside, were now visible on the garden path. They were dilatorily obeying a call from Marjorie, and making for the window.
"I have had a letter," went on Mr. Bethune. "It's a nice letter, and what Mr. Pelham says is reasonable."
"Bounder!" muttered David, and Sandy said "Beast!"
The father lifted his eyes from the letter.
"You will have to apologise. Mr. Pelham is quite right. You have no business there. I will write a letter, and you will take it. Marjorie, will you see if tea is ready?" in a fatigued tone. "Mother looks tired out."
"Come, boys," said Marjorie. And the clamour that immediately ensued round the tea-table in the next room showed that rebellion and anarchy were in the air.