“Enough?” asked her mother doubtfully. “You know it takes a lot for potatoes.” Helen tasted her potatoes, as though she had not till then thought about them. “Yes, there’s enough,” she said. “Let me taste them,” said her mother, holding out her hand for the plate. After she had tasted them she said, “Why, there’s not nearly enough, they’re perfectly flat. Here, give me that salt-cellar.” She added the salt, tasted the potatoes again and pushed the plate back to Helen, who went on eating with small mouthfuls, chewing conscientiously. There was another silence. Mr. Knapp helped himself to another biscuit, and said as he spread it with butter, “Aren’t these biscuits simply great! You’d never know, by the taste, they were good for you, would you?” Helen looked up quickly with a silent, amused smile. Her eyes met her father’s with understanding mirth. “Take smaller mouthfuls, Stephen,” said Mrs. Knapp. Nobody said a word, made a comment, least of all her husband, but she went on with some heat as if in answer to an unspoken criticism. “I know I keep at the children all the time! But how can I help it? They’ve got to learn, haven’t they? It certainly is no _pleasure_ to me to do it! _Some_body’s got to bring them up.” The others quailed in silent remorse before this arraignment. Not so Stephen. He paid no attention whatever to it. His mother often said bitterly that he paid no attention to anything a grown-up said unless you screamed at him and stamped your foot. “Gimme some more meat,” he said heartily, pushing his plate towards his father. “Say, ‘Please, Father,’” commanded his mother. He looked blackly at her, longingly at the steak, decided that the occasion was not worth a battle and said, “Please, father,” in a tone which he contrived, with no difficulty whatever, to make insulting. His mother’s worn, restrained face took on a deeper shade of disheartenment, but she did not lift the cast-down glove, and the provocative accent of rebellion continued to echo in the room triumphant and unchecked. It did not seem to increase the appetite of the other children. They kept their eyes cast down and made themselves small in their chairs. It had no effect on Stephen’s enjoyment of his meal. He ate heartily, like a robust lumberman who has been battling with the elements all day and knows he must fortify himself for a continuation of the same struggle to-morrow. The mottled spots on his cheeks blended into his usual healthy red. He stopped eating for a moment to take a long and audible draught out of his mug. “Don’t make a noise when you drink your milk,” said his mother. The others ate lightly, sipping at their chocolate, taking tiny mouthfuls of the steak and potatoes. “Helen’s school composition had quite a success,” said Helen’s father. “They are going to have some dramatics at the school and....” “What are dramatics?” asked Henry. “Oh, that’s the general name for plays, comedies, you know, and tragedies and....”