Mary Robinson, a great tease, caught Joe’s glance, and said, with an amused smile, "No pancakes to-night, Joe."
Joe was abashed for the fraction of a second. Quickly rallying, he laughingly said, "Tell another, Mary, while your mouth’s hot."
"Very well, my boy! If you don’t believe me ask our black tom-cat. He chased a mouse into the batter and upset the bowl; so there!"
"Mary, Mary!" remonstrated Mrs. Robinson. "There’s only a grain of truth in the pound of fiction she’s giving you, Joe. The cat, it is true, did chase a mouse; but it did not jump into the batter, nor was the bowl upset. The pancakes are cooked, with currans in ’em; just the sort you like; and they’re keeping hot by the fire."
"Thanks awfully, Mrs. Robinson; I believe _you_ anyway. As for Mary, she’s like Sandy M’Intyre’s old, toothless sheep-dog."
"My stars! what originality, what refinement! Sandy’s razor is not in it with master Joe Blain for sharpness. I’ll remember this, though, the next time you ask me to go out to the scrub with you for passion fruit. Anyhow, there’s no resemblance between you and Sandy’s wonderful barker."
"No; your bark’s noisy enough, but your bite’s a hundred times worse—especially when pancakes are about."
With this "Roland" Mary ran out to the kitchen to get the teapot.
Joe made a royal repast, topping off with the hot pancakes at a rate which caused his father to dryly remark: "Too much pancake won’t help the boat along, my boy."
Tea finished, the visitors prepare to continue their voyage. With Ike’s powerful assistance the boat is shoved into the water, and her nose pointed down-stream. In due time Beacon Point is reached.
"Boyhood is the natural time for abundant play and laughter, without which rarely does high health touch young cheeks with its rose-bloom, or knit bones strongly for the fighting and the toiling that awaits them."—JOSEPH H. FLETCHER.
"Now then, Norah, look slippy with breakfast! It’s half-past six, an’ Sandy’s to be here at seven. Said he’d leave the station at five with the spare horse for me."
"Begorrah! at the rate breakfast’s cookin’ it’ll be midnight before it’s ready. ’Tis the bastliest wood that niwer was."
"Fish, bedad! For two pins ye wuddent have anny fish. The thrubble Oi’ve had wid thim! Phwat for did youse lave thim in the bag all night? If ye’d put thim out on the dish, ye spalpeen, Oi’d have seen thim and claned thim long ba-fore Oi wint to bed. ’Sted of which it’s tuk me two morchial hours to scale the brutes, they was that dry and hard. Be Saint Pathrick, they scales was loike porky-pine’s pricklies!"