table looked very nice with the flowers we got. I set it myself, and Eliza made me borrow the silver spoons and forks from Albert-next-door's Mother."
"I hope the poor Indian is honest," said Dicky gloomily, "when you are a poor, broken down man silver spoons must be a great temptation."
Oswald told him not to talk such Tommyrot because the Indian was a relation, so of course he couldn't do anything dishonourable. And Dora said it was all right any way, because she had washed up the spoons and forks herself and counted them, and they were all there, and she had put them into their wash-leather bag, and taken them back to Albert-next-door's Mother.
"And the Brussels sprouts were all wet and swimmy," she went on, "and the potatoes looked grey—and there were bits of black in the gravy—and the mutton was bluey-red and soft in the middle. I saw it when it came out. The apple pie looked very nice—but it wasn't quite done in the apply part. The other thing that was burnt—you must have smelt it, it was the soup."
"It is a pity," said Oswald; "I don't suppose he gets a good dinner every day."
