CHAPTER XVI
A week had passed. Mrs. Friend at ten o'clock in the morning had just
been having a heart to heart talk with the landlady of the inn on the
subject of a decent luncheon for three persons, and a passable dinner for
four. Food at the inn was neither good nor well-cooked, and as criticism,
even the mildest, generally led to tears, Mrs. Friend's morning lot, when
any guest was expected, was not a happy one. It was a difficult thing
indeed to get anything said or settled at all; since the five-year old
Bobby was generally scrimmaging round, capturing his mother's broom and
threatening to "sweep out" Mrs. Friend, or brandishing the meat-chopper,
as a still more drastic means of dislodging her. The little villain,
having failed to drown himself, was now inclined to play tricks with his
small sister, aged eight weeks; and had only that morning, while his
mother's back was turned, taken the baby out of her cradle, run down a
steep staircase with her in his arms, and laid her on a kitchen chair,
forgetting all about her a minute afterwards.
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