Send them all to bed; every man
Jack of them!"
Finding the conversation taking this turn, the brats raised a unanimous
howl.
Triplet darted a fierce glance at them. "Hungry, hungry," cried he; "is
that a proper expression to use before a father who is sitting down here,
all gayety" (scratching wildly with his pen) "and hilarity" (scratch) "to
write a com--com--" he choked a moment; then in a very different voice,
all sadness and tenderness, he said: "Where's the youngest--where's Lucy?
As if I didn't know you are hungry."
Lucy came to him directly. He took her on his knee, pressed her gently to
his side, and wrote silently. The others were still.
"Father," said Lucy, aged five, the germ of a woman, "I am not tho very
hungry.
"And I am not hungry at all," said bluff Lysimachus, taking his sister's
cue; then going upon his own tact he added, "I had a great piece of bread
and butter yesterday!"
"Wife, they will drive me mad!" and he dashed at the paper.
The second boy explained to his mother, _sotto voce:_ "Mother, he _made_
us hungry out of his book."
"It is a beautiful book," said Lucy. "Is it a cookery book?"
Triplet roared: "Do you hear that?" inquired he, all trace of ill-humor
gone. "Wife," he resumed, after a gallant scribble, "I took that sermon I
wrote."
"And beautiful it was, James. I'm sure it quite cheered me up with
thinking that we shall all be dead before so very long.
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