“Oh, Kezia! Why are you such a messy child!” cried Beryl despairingly.
“Me, Aunt Beryl?” Kezia stared at her. What had she done now? She had only dug a river down the middle of her porridge, filled it, and was eating the banks away. But she did that every single morning, and no one had said a word up till now.
“Why can’t you eat your food properly like Isabel and Lottie?” How unfair grown-ups are!
“But Lottie always makes a floating island, don’t you, Lottie?”
“I don’t,” said Isabel smartly. “I just sprinkle mine with sugar and put on the milk and finish it. Only babies play with their food.”
Stanley pushed back his chair and got up.
“Would you get me those shoes, mother? And, Beryl, if you’ve finished, I wish you’d cut down to the gate and stop the coach. Run in to your mother, Isabel, and ask her where my bowler hat’s been put. Wait a minute—have you children been playing with my stick?”
“No, father!”
“But I put it here,” Stanley began to bluster. “I remember distinctly putting it in this corner. Now, who’s had it? There’s no time to lose. Look sharp! The stick’s got to be found.”
Even Alice, the servant-girl, was drawn into
