"It has done you no harm to sup your share of Spartan broth; hard living
is good for us young," was the squire's comment. "You never
complained--your dry little letters always confessed to excellent
health. When I was at school we fed roughly. The joints were cut into
lumps which had all their names, and we were in honor bound not to pick
and choose, but to strike with the fork and take what came up."

"Of course," said Bessie, pricked in her pride and conscience lest she
should seem to be weakly complaining now--"of course we had treats
sometimes. On madame's birthday we had a glass of white wine at dinner,
which was roast veal and pancakes. And on our own birthdays we might
have _galette_ with sugar, if we liked to give Margotin the money."

"I trust the whole school had _galette_ with sugar on your birthday,
Elizabeth?" said her grandfather, quietly amused. He was relieved to
find her younger, more child-like in her ideas, than her first
appearance gave him hopes of. His manner relaxed, his tone became
indulgent. When she smiled with a blush, she was his sweet sister Dolly;
when her countenance fell grave again, she was the shy, touchy,
uncertain little girl who had gone to Fairfield on their first
acquaintance so sorely against her inclination. After Jonquil and his
assistant retired, Elizabeth was invited to tell how the time had passed
on board the Foam.

"Pleasantly, on the whole," she said. "The weather was so fine that we
were on deck from morning till night, and often far on into the night
when the moon shone. It was delightful cruising off the Isle of Wight;
only I had an immense disappointment there."