Colin, however, was doomed to be disappointed.

There was no appearance of anything "better" than bread and butter on
the nursery table, and in answer to the boy's questions, Martha said
there was nothing else.

"But the little pot, Martha, the little pot," insisted Colin. "I heard
you yourself say to cook, 'Then this is for the children?'"

"Well, yes, Master Colin, and so I did, and so it is for you. But I
didn't say it was for to-day--it's for to-morrow, Sunday."

"Whoever heard of such a thing," said Colin. "Fluff won't keep. It
should be eaten at once."

"But it's jam, Master Colin. It's regular jam in the little pot. I
don't know anything about the fluff, as you call it. I suppose they've
eaten it in the kitchen."

"Well, then, it's a shame," said Colin. "It's all the new cook. I've
always been accustomed, always, to have the fluff sent up to the
nursery," and he thumped impressively on the table.

"In all your places, Master Colin, it was always so, wasn't it?" said
Martha, with a twinkle of fun in her eyes.

"You're very impettnent, Martha," said Rosy, looking up suddenly, and
speaking for the first time since she had come into the room.

"Nonsense, Rosy," said Colin. "_I_ don't mind. Martha was only