“Where is he?” asked Oswald, the sturdy youth who attended to the farm business.
“You know where to find him,” replied Meg, with that careless freedom which was so subtly derogatory to her husband.
George came hurrying from the out-building. “What, is it tea already?” he said.
“It’s a wonder you haven’t been crying out for it this last hour,” said Meg.
“It’s a marvel you’ve got dressed so quick,” he replied.
“Oh, is it?” she answered—“well, it’s not with any of your help that I’ve done it, that is a fact. Where’s Teenie?”
The maid, short, stiffly built, very dark and sullen looking, came forward from the gate.
“Can you take Alfy as well, just while we have tea?” she asked. Teenie replied that she should think she could, whereupon she was given the ruddy-haired baby, as well as the dark one. She sat with them on a seat at the end of the yard. We proceeded to tea.
It was a very great spread. There were hot cakes, three or four kinds of cold cakes, tinned apricots, jellies, tinned lobster, and trifles in the way of jam, cream, and rum.
“I don’t know what those cakes are like,” said Meg. “I made them in such a fluster. Really, you have to do things as best you can when you’ve got children—especially when there’s two. I never seem to have time to do my hair up even—look at it now.”
She put up her hands to her head, and I could not help noticing how grimy and rough were her nails.
