"Only to tell Bessie I'll have breakfast with Father when he comes. It wouldn't do to be in bed when he arrived. We won't tell him I wasn't well, Terry, or he'll never want to go away again."

"He doesn't anyhow," she said. "But I won't tell."

"Mother's up," she shouted to Bessie as she went jumping down the stairs. "Let's have breakfast. Oh, Grace, you have been quick. You can't have done your hair properly."

"I did, then."

"Brushed your teeth?"

"Miss Terry, you're very uppish this morning. Just mind your own business, and eat what's put before you. If you were as perticler as Miss Grace——"

"Oh, Bessie, the porridge is burnt! Oh, how hateful!"

"It's not very bad," said Grace soothingly. "If you think of something nice you'll hardly taste it."

"D'you think I'm going to eat it? I hate the stuff anyway; nasty, drab-. . . Read More