nd the boy smiled pleasantly again.

"Of course you may, my boy," said the doctor. "Answer when you are
spoken to, and try and be polite."

"Yes, sir, I will; I'll try so hard."

"Then may I send you some lamb!"

"Yes; twice as much as you give her. It does smell nice."

The doctor frowned a little, and then helped the boy pretty liberally.

"Oh, I say! Just look at the gravy," he cried. "Have you got plenty,
Miss!"

"Oh yes, Dexter," said Helen. "May I--"

"Don't give it all to me, Mister," cried the boy. "Keep some for
yourself. I hate a pig."

"Errum!" coughed the doctor, frowning. "Miss Grayson was going to ask
if you would take some vegetables!"

"What? taters? No thankye, we got plenty o' them at the House," cried
the boy; and he began cutting and devouring the lamb at a furious rate.

"Gently, gently!" cried the doctor. "You have neither bread nor salt."

"Get's plenty o' them at the House," cried the boy, with his mouth full;
"and you'd better look sharp, too. The bell'll ring directly, and we
shall have to--no it won't ring here, will it!" he said, looking from
one to another.

"No, sir," said the doctor sternly; "and you must not eat like that.
Watch how Miss Grayson eats her lunch, and try and imitate her."

The boy gave the doctor a sharp glance, and then, in a very praiseworthy
manner, tried to partake of the savoury joint in a decent way.

But it was hard work for him. The well-cooked succulent meat was so
toothsome that he longed to get to the end of it; and whenever he was
not watching the doctor and his daughter he kept glancing at the dish,
wondering whether he would be asked to have any more.

"What's that rum-looking stuff?" he said, as the doctor helped himself
from a small tureen.

"Mint sauce, sir. Will you have some?"

"I don't know. Let's taste it."

The little sauce tureen was passed to him, and he raised the silver
ladle, but instead of emptying it upon his plate he raised it to his
lips, and drank with a loud, unpleasant noise, suggestive of the word
_soup_.

The doctor was going to utter a reproof, but the sight of Helen's mirth
checked him, and he laughed heartily as he saw the boy's face full of
disgust.

"I don't like that," he said, pushing the tureen away. "It ain't good."

"But you should--"

"Don't correct him now, papa; you will spoil the poor boy's dinner,"
remonstrated Helen.

"He said it was lunch," said Dexter.

"Your dinner, sir, a