Quebec and Malta lay the cloth for dinner, while Woolwich, serving, as beseems him, under his father, keeps the fowls revolving. To these young scullions Mrs. Bagnet occasionally imparts a wink, or a shake of the head, or a crooked face, as they made mistakes.
“At half after one.” Says Mr. Bagnet. “To the minute. They’ll be done.”
Mrs. Bagnet, with anguish, beholds one of them at a standstill before the fire and beginning to burn.
“You shall have a dinner, old girl,” says Mr. Bagnet. “Fit for a queen.”
Mrs. Bagnet shows her white teeth cheerfully, but to the perception of her son, betrays so much uneasiness of spirit that he is impelled by the dictates of affection to ask her, with his eyes, what is the matter, thus standing, with his eyes wide open, more oblivious of the fowls than before, and not affording the least hope of a return to consciousness. Fortunately his elder sister perceives the cause of the agitation in Mrs. Bagnet’s breast and with an admonitory poke recalls him. The stopped fowls going round again, Mrs. Bagnet closes her eyes in the intensity of her relief.
“George will look us up,” says Mr. Bagnet. “At half after four. To the moment. How many years, old girl. Has George looked us up. This afternoon?”
“Ah, Lignum, Lignum, as many as make an old woman of a young one, I begin to think. Just about that, and no less,” returns Mrs. Bagnet, laughing and shaking her head.
“Old girl,” says Mr. Bagnet, “never mind. You’d be as young as ever you was. If you wasn’t younger. Which you are. As everybody knows.”
Quebec and Malta here exclaim, with clapping of hands, that Bluffy is sure to bring mother something, and begin to speculate on what it will be.