“It has been a delicious day,” said Mr. Kinosling, presently; “warm but balmy.”  With a benevolent smile he addressed Penrod, who sat opposite him.  “I suppose, little gentleman, you have been indulging in the usual outdoor sports of vacation?”

Penrod laid down his fork and glared, open-mouthed at Mr. Kinosling.

“You’ll have another slice of breast of the chicken?” Mr. Schofield inquired, loudly and quickly.

“A lovely day!” exclaimed Margaret, with equal promptitude and emphasis.  “Lovely, oh, lovely!  Lovely!”

“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!” said Mrs. Schofield, and after a glance at Penrod which confirmed her impression that he intended to say something, she continued, “Yes, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful beautiful!”

Penrod closed his mouth and sank back in his chair—­and his relatives took breath.

Mr. Kinosling looked pleased.  This responsive family, with its ready enthusiasm, made the kind of audience he liked.  He passed a delicate white hand gracefully over his tall, pale forehead, and smiled indulgently.

“Youth relaxes in summer,” he said.  “Boyhood is the age of relaxation; one is playful, light, free, unfettered.  One runs and leaps and enjoys one’s self with one’s companions.  It is good for the little lads to play with their friends; they jostle, push, and wrestle, and simulate little, happy struggles with one another in harmless conflict.  The young muscles are toughening.  It is good.  Boyish chivalry develops, enlarges, expands.  The young learn quickly, intuitively, spontaneously.  They perceive the obligations of noblesse oblige.  They begin to comprehend the necessity of caste and its requirements.  They learn what birth means—­ah,—­that is, they learn what it means to be well born.  They learn courtesy in their games; they learn politeness, consideration for one another in their pastimes, amusements, lighter occupations.  I make it my pleasure to join them often, for I sympathize with them in all their wholesome joys as well as in their little bothers and perplexities.  I understand them, you see; and let me tell you it is no easy matter to understand the little lads and lassies.”  He sent to each listener his beaming glance, and, permitting it to come to rest upon Penrod, inquired: 

“And what do you say to that, little gentleman?”

Mr. Schofield uttered a stentorian cough.  “More?  You’d better have some more chicken!  More!  Do!”

“More chicken!” urged Margaret simultaneously.  “Do please!  Please!  More!  Do!  More!”

“Beautiful, beautiful,” began Mrs. Schofield.  “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful——­”