"I think it would be better not to grumble, Susan, my dear," replied,
in a low voice, a pleasant dark-eyed young lady who was making tea;
but the boys at the bottom of the table neither heard nor heeded.
"Mary, Mary, quite contrary," was Sam's cry, in so funny a voice,
that Miss Fosbrook could only laugh; "is this bread and scrape the
fare for a rising young family of genteel birth?"
"Oh!" with a pathetic grimace, cried the pretty-faced though sandy-
haired Henry, the next to him in age, "if our beloved parents knew
how their poor deserted infants are treated--"
"A fine large infant you are, Hal!" exclaimed Susan.
"I'm an infant, you're an infant, Miss Fosbrook is an infant--a
babby."
"For shame, Hal!" cried the more civilized Sam, clenching his fist.
"No, no, Sam," interposed Miss Fosbrook, laughing, "your brother is
quite right; I am as much an infant in the eye of the law as little
George."
"There, I said I would!" cried Henry; "didn't I, Sam?"
"Didn't you what?" asked Susan, not in the most elegant English.
"Why, Martin Greville twitted us with having a girl for a governess,"
said Henry; "he said it was a shame we should be taken in to think
her grown up, when she was not twenty; and I said I would find out,
and now I have done it!" he cried triumphantly.
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