"
She returned to her task of cutting sandwiches. William, from a
respectful distance, surveyed the table with its enticing burden.
"Huh!" he ejaculated bitterly, "think of them sitting and stuffing,
and stuffing, and stuffing away at _our_ food all night! I don't
suppose they'll leave much--not if I know the set that lives round
here!"
"Don't judge them all by yourself, Master William," said cook
unkindly, keeping a watchful eye upon him. "Here, Emma, put that
rice-mould away in the pantry. It's for to-morrow's lunch."
Rice-mould! That reminded him.
"Cook," he said ingratiatingly, "are you going to make cream
blanc-mange?"
"I am _not_, Master William," she said firmly.
"Well," he said, with a short laugh, "it'll be a queer party without
cream blanc-mange! I've never heard of a party without cream
blanc-mange! They'll think it's a bit funny. No one ever gives a party
round here without cream blanc-mange!"
"Don't they indeed, Master William," said cook, with ironic interest.
"No. You'll be making one, p'raps, later on--just a little one, won't
you?"
"And why should I?"
"Well, I'd like to think they had a cream blanc-mange. I think they'd
enjoy it. That's all I'm thinking of."
"Oh, is it? Well, it's your ma that tells me what to make and pays me
for it, not you."
This was a novel idea to William.
He thought deeply.
"Look here!" he said at last, "if I gave you,"--he paused for effect,
then brought out the startling offer--"sixpence, would you make a
cream blanc-mange?"
"I'd want to see your sixpence first," said cook, with a wink at Emma.
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