"I meant neater when he is just washed and dressed," retorted Peter's
mother. "Are you coming to the family council, sweet Pete?"
Peter climbed on his mother's knee and answered by a vague affirmative
nod, his whole mind being on the extraction of a slippery marble from a
long-necked bottle.
"Then be quiet, and speak only when we ask your advice," continued Mrs.
Carey. "Unless I were obliged to, children, I should be sorry to go
against all your wishes. I might be willing to bear my share of a
burden, but more is needed than that."
"I think," said Nancy suddenly, aware now of the trend of her mother's
secret convictions, "I think Julia is a smug, conceited, vain, affected
little pea--" Here she caught her mother's eye and suddenly she heard
inside of her head or heart or conscience a chime of words. "_Next to
father_!" Making a magnificent oratorical leap she finished her sentence
with only a second's break,--"peacock, but if mother thinks Julia is a
duty, a duty she is, and we must brace up and do her. Must we love her,
mother, or can we just be good and polite to her, giving her the breast
and taking the drumstick? _She_ won't ever say, '_Don't let me rob
you_!' like Cousin Ann, when _she_ takes the breast!"
Kathleen looked distinctly unresigned. She hated drumsticks and all that
they stood for in life. She disliked the wall side of the bed, the
middle seat in the carriage, the heel of the loaf, the underdone
biscuit, the tail part of the fish, the scorched end of the omelet.
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