the rest of the family would have preferred the warmed-up veal stew.
Or had the guests looked approvingly at the stew, the scanty portion
of beefsteak would have satisfied the furthest desires of the family.
But the perfect understanding among the adults did not extend to the
two little girls. They leaned forward, with their red lips parted,
and watched their uncle anxiously as he carved the beefsteak. There
was evidently not much of it, and their anxiety grew. When it was
separated into three portions, two of which were dispensed to the
guests, and the other, having been declined by their grandmother and
mother, was appropriated by their uncle, anxiety lapsed into
certainty.

"I want some beefsteak!" wailed each, in wofully injured tones.

Mr. Tuxbury set his mouth hard, and pushed his plate with a jerk
toward his niece. Her face was very red, but she took it--she was
aware there was no other course open--divided the meat impartially,
and gave each child a piece with a surreptitious thump.

Mr. Tuxbury, with a moodily knitted forehead and a smiling mouth,
asked the guests miserably if they would have some veal stew. It was
perfectly evident that if they accepted, there would be nothing
whatever left for the family to eat. They declined in terrified
haste; indeed, both Lois and her mother had been impelled to pass
their portions of beefsteak over to the children, but they had not
dared.

The children wished for veal stew also, and when they had eaten their
meagre spoonfuls, clamored persistently for more.