mess and annoy Felicity, in which noble ambition he succeeded perfectly.
"I wish Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec were home," said Felix. "It's not half as much fun having the grown-ups away as I thought it would be."
"I wish I was back in Toronto," I said sulkily. The mince pie was to blame for that wish.
"I wish you were, I'm sure," said Felicity, riddling the fire noisily.
"Any one who lives with you, Felicity King, will always be wishing he was somewhere else," said Dan.
"I wasn't talking to you, Dan King," retorted Felicity. "'Speak when you're spoken to, come when you're called.'"
"Oh, oh, oh," wailed Cecily on the sofa. "I wish it would stop raining. I wish my head would stop aching. I wish ma had never gone away. I wish you'd leave Felicity alone, Dan."
"I wish girls had some sense," said Dan—which brought the orgy of wishing to an end for the time. A wishing fairy might have had the time of her life in the King kitchen that morning—particularly if she were a cynically inclined fairy.
But even the effects of unholy snacks wear away at length. By tea-time things had brightened up. The rain had ceased, and the old, low-raftered room was full of sunshine which danced on the shining dishes of the dresser, made mosaics on the floor, and flickered over the table whereon a delicious meal was spread. Felicity had put on her blue muslin, and looked so
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