table. It was a
family custom with the Saxons to begin on cake and work steadily back to
bread and butter. There had been some opposition to encounter from
conservative elders before this reversal of the ordinary programme had
been sanctioned, but the arguments advanced had been too strong to
resist.

"I can 'preciate things more when I'm hungry. Cake's the best thing;
why need I stodge on bread and butter till I can't properly 'preciate
the cake? Why can't I stodge on cake, and eat the bread when I don't
'preciate? It doesn't matter about bread!"

So ran the thread of Harold's arguments, and it must be confessed that
there was reason therein. To-day, as the young people satisfied their
first pangs of hunger on iced cake, the parents watching them exchanged
a piteous glance, for the proceeding seemed so sadly typical of the
secret that was about to be divulged! Until this day, all that was
richest and best in life had been the everyday possession of these loved
and fortunate children--after to-day, the love would continue unchanged,
but the luxuries must come to an end.

The meal was unusually silent, both Mr and Mrs Saxon and the elder
boys and girls being too much oppressed by their own feelings to be able
to indulge in ordinary light conversation; only Harold and Maud remained
unconscious of the cloud in the atmosphere, and everyone was thankful
for their artless prattle, which filled up what would otherwise have
been a painful silence. As for the twins, they were quite elated to
find so attentive an audience, for as a rule their attempts to enter the
conversation were severely nipped in the bud. "That's enough, thank
you!" Rowena would say in her most lofty manner. "Shut up, you kids.
A fellow can't hear himself speak for your row!" Gurth would call out
fiercely. Even when Mrs Saxon was present she would shake her head
gently across the table, to enforce the oft-repeated axiom that in so
large a family the younger members must perforce learn to be quiet at
table. Maud beamed with pleasure at being allowed to continue her
never-ending descriptions without a word of remonstrance. She was a
fair, pretty, somewhat stupid child, gifted with an overflow of words,
which were, however, singularly incapable of conveying any definite
impression. Observation she possessed in abundance, but her discursive
narratives were by no means improved by being weighted by a plethora of
useless detail. One could listen