"I can go this evening, of course," she said, "but it's not quite the
same. The morning service is different. Yes, please, dear--_and_
stuffing. Yes, I'll have a little more turkey, too. And, of course,
the vicar may not preach to-night. That makes such a difference. The
gravy on the potatoes, please. It's almost the first Christmas I've
not been in the morning. It seems quite to have spoilt the day for
me."
She bent on William a glance of gentle reproach. William was quite
capable of meeting adequately that or any other glance, but at present
he was too busy for minor hostilities. He was _extremely_ busy. He was
doing his utmost to do full justice to a meal that only happens once a
year.
"William," said Barbara pleasantly, "I can _dweam_. Can you?"
He made no answer.
"Answer your cousin, William," said his mother.
He swallowed, then spoke plaintively, "You always say not to talk with
my mouth full," he said.
"You could speak when you've finished the mouthful."
"No. 'Cause I want to fill it again then," said William, firmly.
"Dear, _dear_!" murmured Aunt Jane.
This was Aunt Jane's usual contribution to any conversation.
He looked coldly at the three pairs of horrified aunts' eyes around
him, then placidly continued his meal.
Mrs. Brown hastily changed the subject of conversation. The art of
combining the duties of mother and hostess is sometimes a difficult
one.
Christmas afternoon is a time of rest.
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