'
'It is wicked to waste bread,' lisped Angela, and Martha at that
moment appeared to fetch the tureen for the kitchen dinner.
'Can't you eat any more, Cherry ?' asked Felix gloomily.
'Not a bit, thank you,' she said.
'We've not done!' shouted the boys, seizing on her scarcely-tasted
and half-cold plate.
'You must finish after. Come, Cherry!' Then, as they left the room,
and she laid her head on his shoulder--'Little ruffians!' he said
under his breath.
'Oh, never mind, Felix. I don't--at least I ought not to mind--they
don't mean it.'
'Lance does not, but I think Fulbert does. He'll make me thrash him
within two inches of his life before he has done. And then there's no
one to take me in hand for it. It is horridly bad for them, too, to
live just like young bears.'
But he smoothed his brow as he came into the room where his mother
was, and amused her till his time was up.
Mr. Froggatt had explained to his father long ago that Felix's work
would not be that of a clerk in a great publishing house, but
veritably that belonging to the country bookseller and printer, and
that he must go through all the details, so as to be thoroughly
conversant with them.
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