“Never mind my face,” piped Peggy in her weak little treble. “Sit right down and talk to me. What is the news in the giddy world? Have you heard anything about the prize? When does the result come out? Remember you promised faithfully not to open the paper until we were together. I was so afraid it would come while I was too ill to look at it!” “I should have waited,” said Robert sturdily. “There would have been no interest in the thing without you; but the result won’t be given for ten days yet, and by that time you will be with us again. The world hasn’t been at all giddy, I can tell you. I never put in a flatter time. Everybody was in the blues, and the house was like a tomb, and a jolly uncomfortable tomb at that. Esther was housekeeper while Mrs. Asplin was away, and she starved us! She was in such a mortal fright of being extravagant, that she would scarcely give us enough to keep body and soul together, and the things we had were not fit to eat. Nothing but milk puddings and stewed fruit for a week on end. Then we rebelled. I nipped her up in my arms one evening in the school-room and stuck her on the top of the little book-case. Then we mounted guard around, and set forth our views. It would have killed you to see her perched up there, trying to look prim and to keep up her dignity. “‘Let me down this moment, Robert! Bring a chair and let me get down.’ “‘Will you promise to give us a pie to-morrow then, and a decent sort of a pudding?’ “‘It’s no business of yours what I give you. You ought to be thankful for good wholesome food!’ “‘Milk puddings are not wholesome. They don’t agree with us—they are too rich! We should like something a little lighter for a change. Will you swear off milk puddings for the next fortnight if I let you down?’ “‘You are a cruel, heartless fellow, Robert Darcy—thinking of puddings when Peggy is ill, and we are all so anxious about her!’ “‘Peggy would die at once if she heard how badly you were treating us. Now then, you have kept me waiting for ten minutes, so the price has gone up. You’ll have to promise a pair of ducks and mince pies into the bargain! I shall be ashamed of meeting a sheep soon, if we go on eating mutton every day of the week.’ “‘Call yourself a gentleman!’ says she, tossing her head and withering me with a glance of scorn. “‘I call myself a hungry man, and that’s all we are concerned about for the moment,’ said I. ‘A couple of ducks and two nailing good puddings to-morrow night, or there you sit for the rest of the evening!’