There were chairs at the long table that had the shy appearance of having been borrowed from the bedroom, but only one of the children made a remark concerning this, and she found herself told that another word from her would result in a lonely return to home forthwith. They all declared they had plenty of room, and Uncle Henry accepted with modesty a position near to the birds with the comment that he could always manage to eat a couple; perhaps the others would not mind looking on whilst he enjoyed the pleasures of the table; the children, now accustomed to Uncle Henry’s humour, declined to be appalled by this threat, and, indeed, challenged him, offering the prize of one penny if he should consume the contents of the dishes, bones and all. They stopped their ears whilst he sharpened the big knife, and when he said, “Now, has any one got any preference?” the grown-ups gave a fine lesson in behaviour by declaring that they would be content with whatever portions were sent down to them. The maid, waiting at table, exhibited evidence of mental aberration over the task of handing plates in the right order of precedence, but wireless telegraphy from her mistress, and from the eldest daughter, gave instructions and averted disaster. “Do look after yourself, Uncle Henry!” Uncle Henry asserted that, but for this reminder, he would have neglected to fill his own plate, and one of the children, unable to reconcile the extreme selfishness hinted at in an earlier stage with the astonishing effacement now proclaimed, stared at him open-mouthed. The same child later on, after expressing loudly his determination not to be frightened when the plum-pudding—over a month old and the last of its race—was brought, surrounded by a purple blaze, found performance a harder task than that of hypothetical daring, and, burying his little head in the lap of the eldest daughter, gave way to tears, declining to resume the appearance of serenity until the flames had been blown out; he regained complete self-possession on finding in the portion served out to him a bright silver sixpence, and announced his intention of purchasing with that sum Drury Lane Theatre, together with the pantomime for the current year. The elder children listened with tolerance and gave a nod to the grown-ups, showing that they knew the sum would be altogether insufficient. “Well,” said Uncle Henry, after he had resolutely turned his head away from the offer of a second meringue, “if I never have a worse dinner, I shan’t complain.” “Beautifully cooked,” agreed the young man. “Credit to whom credit is due,” asserted the hostess generously. “If Mary there hadn’t superintended—” “Mother, dear!” protested the eldest girl.