"Fine, that I do," came Ishmael's shrill tones; "an' I'm gwain to have
en cried every year, and I'll give ever so much bigger suppers, with
beef and pasties and beer as well as cider, and saffern cakes and--";
here his tongue failed at the list in his excitement.

Annie had gone a dull crimson, and she drew the whistling breath that
with her was the precursor of storm. Help for her outraged feelings and
a snub for the young master came from a quarter which surprised them
both.

"It is not you who give the supper, Ishmael," spoke the Parson quietly;
"it is your mother. And unless you show you know how to behave she will
never let you sit up again."

Annie expelled the breath unaccompanied by any flow of words. Archelaus
sniggered, and Ishmael sat in that terrible embarrassment that only
children know, when the whole world turns black and shame is so intense
that it seems impossible to keep on with life at all. His face was one
burning flush, his eyes stung with tears he was too proud to let fall.
All his wonderful day had fallen about his ears, and it seemed to him
that such a mortification, added to his own shamed sense of having
disappointed Da Boase, would burden him so that he could never be happy
again. And only a couple of hours earlier he had realised for the first
time how splendid somehow life and everything in it was, himself
included ... and now all was over. He sat staring at the congealed
remains of a pasty on his plate. He did not see how it was possible to
go on living.

Suddenly a soft, very small hand slid into his lap under cover of the
table's corner, and Phoebe's fingers curled round his as she