"Water's boiling," cried
Uncle Felix; "hand round the cups and cut the loaf." A cup was given
to each. The tea was made.
"Do you take sugar, please?" asked Judy of the guest. The quietness of
her voice made it almost tender. Such a man, moreover, might despise
sweet things. But he said he did.
"Two lumps?" she asked, "or one?"
"Five, please," he said.
She was far too polite to show surprise at this, nor at the fact that
he stirred his tea with a little bit of stick instead of with a spoon.
She remembered his remark that he had no use for spoons. Tim, saying
nothing, imitated all he did as naturally as though he had never done
otherwise in his life before. They enjoyed their picnic tea immensely
in this way, seated in a row upon the comfortable elm tree, gobbling,
munching, drinking, chattering. The Tramp, for all his outward
roughness, had the manners of a king. He said what he thought, but
without offence; he knew what he wanted, yet without greed or
selfishness. He had that politeness which is due to alert perception
of every one near him, their rights and claims, their likes and
dislikes; for true politeness is practically an expansion of
consciousness which involves seeing the point of view of every one
else--at once.
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