"Now, don't, mother! Let me manage," said Mr. Royden.
She sat down again, as if with a great effort.
"You are welcome to manage, if you choose to. Willie, stop kicking the table! Take that potato out of his clothes, Sarah. Hepsy, why don't you clean up the floor, without being told?"
"See how much mischief you do, with your fooling," said Mr. Royden, with a severe look at Sam.
The boy cast down his eyes, kicking the door-post with his big toe.
"Come back, now, and eat your dinner. See if you can behave yourself."
"He don't deserve to have a mouthful," exclaimed Mrs. Royden. "What you ever took him to bring up for, I can't conceive; I should think we had children enough of our own, to make us trouble!"
"He's old enough to know better. Come and finish your dinner."
"I don't want no dinner!" muttered Sam.
But he did not require much urging. Half ashamed, and grinning from ear to ear, he took his place again at the table, Hepsy having brought a