Vanderveer dared? No, there must be some mistake.
At that instant my attention was attracted by Richard, who, after
unpacking his toys, had curled up in a deep piazza chair, where he sat
without saying a word, but looking flushed and heavy-eyed.
"Do you feel sick? Perhaps you ate too much cream, and then ran too fast.
Come and let mother feel of your hands," I said. His hands were cold and
his head burning.
"It wasn't the cweam," he replied finally, as if not quite sure what was
the matter, "it was the lemonade with the bitter currant jelly in it
that made the cweam and all swell up,--and I guess it's going to spill
pretty soon."
"Lemonade with bitter jelly in it?" queried father, coming out, "what
sort of a mess have they given him?" Father stooped, smelled his breath,
saying, "Astringent wine of some sort, unless my nose fails me. Did you
have any, Ian?"
"Not pink, only yellow. I was all full up by then."
"When?"
"Why, when the big boys caught some of us and said we must drink pink
lemonade to make us grow quick."
Father gave me a keen glance of intelligence, and I took the boys
upstairs, where Richard's trouble soon righted itself, and, early as it
was, they went quickly to sleep with the precious money under their
pillows, fatigue conquering even their excitement.
Evan came home rather late, and at dinner we talked of other things. As
far back as I remember anything, I can hear father's voice saying alike
to Aunt Lot, myself, or a complaining servant, "The family board is
sacred; meals are not the time for disagreeables.
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