"A stud is an animate article, possessing the human attributes of legs
and devilment--got him, by Jove! Now thin ye young devil, is it hidin'
from me, indeed! I'll be teachin' ye a lesson--"
"Denis, _have_ you seen my hair-ribbon?"
"Oh," this was Nell's voice, "I wish I had a tail like a kitten, to run
round and round after!"
Miss Kezia's expression grew painfully long-suffering.
"If you were havin' a tail in this London, there wouldn't be room to run
round after it!" Scorn vibrated in this voice.
A pause.
Thud--thud--patter-- Then, with a startling suddenness, a wild Irish
whoop.
Miss Kezia jumped badly, and the angry, shamed colour flooded her
cheeks. She rose--a quick succession of whoops sounded nearer and
nearer--she went out into the hall. Denis was coming downstairs, two at
a time, and performing an Irish jig at the same moment. The others were
behind him.
"May I request that you cease making those horrible noises? I do not
want the police here, thinking murder is being committed."
Unfortunately this struck their perverse minds as being intensely funny.
Miss Kezia went back to the dining room, and they followed her to cold
coffee and congealed porridge. But coffee as cold as the ice round the
North pole, and porridge as congealed as lead, were powerless, as Miss
Kezia's disapproval was powerless, to quench the hilarity in the
atmosphere that morning.
"May I inquire why you have chosen to be three-quarters of an hour late
this morning?"
Heads were lifted from bowls of congealed porridge; laughter rippled
round the table.
"'Twasn't we chose--it was the letters," Nell said, and her voice was
almost a song, so gay was the lilt of it.
Denis said blandly, "Put the blame on the postman, and the cap will fit
him like a glove."