ame
out. The apple-pie looked very nice--but it wasn't quite done in the
apply part. The other thing that was burnt--you must have smelt it, was
the soup.'

'It is a pity,' said Oswald; 'I don't suppose he gets a good dinner
every day.'

'No more do we,' said H. O., 'but we shall to-morrow.'

I thought of all the things we had bought with our half-sovereign--the
rabbit and the sweets and the almonds and raisins and figs and the
coconut: and I thought of the nasty mutton and things, and while I was
thinking about it all Alice said--

'Let's ask the poor Indian to come to dinner with _us_ to-morrow.' I
should have said it myself if she had given me time.

We got the little ones to go to bed by promising to put a note on their
dressing-table saying what had happened, so that they might know the
first thing in the morning, or in the middle of the night if they
happened to wake up, and then we elders arranged everything.

I waited by the back door, and when the Uncle was beginning to go Dicky
was to drop a marble down between the banisters for a signal, so that I
could run round and meet the Uncle as he came out.

This seems like deceit, but if you are a thoughtful and considerate boy
you will understand that we could not go down and say to the Uncle in
the hall under Father's eye, 'Father has given you a beastly, nasty
dinner, but if you will come to dinner with us tomorrow, we will show
you our idea of good things to eat.' You will see, if you think it over,
that this would not have been at all polite to Father.

So when the Uncle left, Father saw him to the door and let him out, and
then went back to the study, looking very sad, Dora says.

As the poor Indian came down our steps he saw me there at the gate.

I did not mind his being poor, and I said, 'Good evening, Uncle,' just
as politely as though he had been about to ascend into one of the gilded
chariots of the rich and affluent, instead of having to walk to the
station a quarter of a mile in the mud, unless he had the money for a
tram fare.

'Good evening, Uncle.' I said it again, for he stood staring at me.
I don't suppose he was used to politeness from boys--some boys are
anything but--especially to the Aged Poor.

So I said, 'Good evening, Uncle,' yet once again. Then he said--

'Time you were in bed, young man. Eh!--what?'

Then I saw I must speak plainly with him, man to man. So I did. I said--

'You've been dining with my Father, and we couldn