She looked triumphantly about her. "He never misses a night! And what did you pray?"
Wakefield drew up his eyebrows. "I prayed—let's see—I prayed"—his eyes lit on Pheasant's hand—"that you would give a present to-day, and—get one!"
She struck the arm of her chair with her palm. "Ha! Listen to that! A present! Now who would give me a present? No, no, I must do all the giving. Till the last. Then you can make me a present of a fine funeral. Ha!"
Nicholas growled to Ernest: "I shall have to cuff that young rascal before he'll stop this mischief of praying."
"It's very depressing for Mama," said Ernest, gloomily. "It must be stopped."
"A game of backgammon will divert her."
Ernest looked dubious. "The last time I played with her she wasn't very clear about it."
"Never mind. She must be diverted. She's in the mood to give presents all round. I don't know what has come over her."
He found the backgammon board, and the velvet bag containing the dice and dice-boxes. He said to Wakefield, hovering near: "Ask your Grandmama and the parson if they will play backgammon. Place the small table between them. I shall cuff you if you persist in this praying business."
"Yes, Uncle Nick."
The little boy flew away, held whispered conversations, flew back.
"Uncle Nick!"
"Yes."
"I've placed the table, and the parson, and Gran. They said they were nothing loath."
Finch said: "He made that last up. They didn't put it in those fool words."
"You are odious, Finch," retorted Wake. He adored his Aunt Augusta's vocabulary and had no self-consciousness in employing it.
The opponents faced each other. Bearded, untidy Mr. Fennel; gorgeous, ancient Adeline.
