This was a
sore trouble to the little brother and sister, more especially as if
they did not finish the bread and milk they could not expect to have the
treat waiting for them downstairs in the dining-room at Grandpapa's and
Grandmamma's breakfast--of a cup of weak but sweet tea and a tiny slice
of bread and butter or toast, with sometimes the tops of the old
people's eggs, and at others a taste of honey, or marmalade, or
strawberry jam, all daintily set out by Grandmamma's own little white
hands!
So for every reason Duke and Pamela wished to eat up the bread and milk
to the last spoonful. It was not that they did not like it--it was as
good and nice as bread and milk could be, and they were not dainty. Only
they could not eat so much! This morning they had not half finished when
their appetites began to flag. Perhaps it was with the excitement of
Nurse being absent--perhaps they chattered and "played" over their
breakfast, not having her to keep them up to the mark--I can't say. But
the bowls were still deplorably full, though the milk was no longer
steaming, and the little squares of bread had lost their neat shape, and
were all "squashy" together, when Duke threw down his spoon in despair.
"I can't eat any more, sister. I cannot try any more.
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