CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE children insisted on leading him all through the house to show how nicely they had taken care of things. And in every room Gissing saw the marks of riot and wreckage. There were tooth-scars on all furniture-legs; the fringes of rugs were chewed off; there were prints of mud, ink, paints, and whatnot, on curtains and wallpapers and coverlets. Poor Mrs. Spaniel kept running anxiously from the kitchen to renew apologies.
“I did try to keep 'em in order,” she said, “but they seem to bash things when you're not looking.”
But Gissing was too happy to stew about such trifles. When the inspection was over, they all sat down by the chimney and he piled on more logs.
“Well, chilluns,” he said, “what do you want Santa Claus to bring you for Christmas?”
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