careful. And then
Father said, 'Well, whisky then,' and afterwards they talked about
Native Races and Imperial something or other and it got very dull.

So then Oswald remembered that you must not hear what people do not
intend you to hear--even if you are not listening and he said, 'We ought
not to stay here any longer. Perhaps they would not like us to hear--'

Alice said, 'Oh, do you think it could possibly matter?' and went and
shut the study door softly but quite tight. So it was no use staying
there any longer, and we went to the nursery.

Then Noel said, 'Now I understand. Of course my Father is making a
banquet for the Indian, because he is a poor, broken-down man. We might
have known that from "Lo, the poor Indian!" you know.'

We all agreed with him, and we were glad to have the thing explained,
because we had not understood before what Father wanted to have people
to dinner for--and not let us come in.

'Poor people are very proud,' said Alice, 'and I expect Father thought
the Indian would be ashamed, if all of us children knew how poor he
was.'

Then Dora said, 'Poverty is no disgrace. We should honour honest
Poverty.'

And we all agreed that that was so.

'I wish his dinner had not been so nasty,' Dora said, while Oswald put
lumps of coal on the fire with his fingers, so as not to make a noise.
He is a very thoughtful boy, and he did not wipe his fingers on his
trouser leg as perhaps Noel or H. O. would have done, but he just rubbed
them on Dora's handkerchief while she was talking.

'I am afraid the dinner was horrid.' Dora went on. 'The table looked
very nice with the flowers we got. I set it myself, and Eliza made me
borrow the silver spoons and forks from Albert-next-door's Mother.'

'I hope the poor Indian is honest,' said Dicky gloomily, 'when you are a
poor, broken-down man silver spoons must be a great temptation.'

Oswald told him not to talk such tommy-rot because the Indian was a
relation, so of course he couldn't do anything dishonourable. And Dora
said it was all right any way, because she had washed up the spoons and
forks herself and counted them, and they were all there, and she had
put them into their wash-leather bag, and taken them back to
Albert-next-door's Mother.

'And the brussels sprouts were all wet and swimmy,' she went on, 'and
the potatoes looked grey--and there were bits of black in the gravy--and
the mutton was bluey-red and soft in the middle. I saw it when it c