The incident passed without making any impression upon the minds of any but Thaddeus junior, who, taking his cue from Harry, vociferously asserted that he, too, wished a glass of milk, and in such terms as made the assertion tantamount to an ultimatum.

Then Miss Jennie seemed to think it was her turn.

“Hi doan’t care fer stike.  Hi wants chickin,” said she.  “I’n’t there goin’ ter be no kikes?”

Mrs. Perkins laughed, though I strongly suspect that Thaddeus junior would have been sent from the table had he ventured to express a similar sentiment.  Mrs. Bradley blushed; Bradley looked severe; Perkins had that expression which all parents have when other people’s children are involved, and which implies the thought, “If you were mine there’d be trouble; but since you are not mine, how cunning you are!” But Harriet, the nurse, met the problem.  She said: 

“Popper’s goin’ ter have stike, Jinnie; m’yby Mr. Perkins’ll give yer lots o’ gryvy.  Hit i’n’t time fer the kikes.”

Perhaps I ought to say to those who have not studied dialect as “she is spoke” that the word m’yby is the Seven Dials idiom for maybe, itself more or less an Americanism, signifying “perhaps,” while “kikes” is a controvertible term for cakes.

After breakfast, as a matter of course, the senior members of both families attended divine service, then came dinner, and after dinner the usual matching of the children began.  The hopefuls of Perkins were matched against the scions of Bradley.  All four were brought downstairs and into the parental presence in the library.

“Your Harry is a fine fellow, Mrs. Bradley,” said Thaddeus.

“Yes, we think Harry is a very nice boy,” returned Mrs. Bradley, with a fond glance at the youth.

“Wot djer si about me, mar?” asked Harry.

“Nothing, dear,” replied Mrs. Bradley, raising her eyebrows reprovingly.

“Yes, yer did, too,” retorted Harry.  “Yer said as ’ow hi were a good boy.”

“Well, ’e i’n’t, then,” interjected Jennie. “‘E’s a bloomin’ mean un.  ‘E took a knoife an’ cut open me doll.”

“’Ush, Jinnie, ’ush!” put in the nurse.  “Don’t yer tell tiles on ’Arry.  ’E didn’t mean ter ’urt yer doll.  ’Twas a haxident.”

“No, ’twasn’t a haxident,” said Jennie. “’E done it a-purpice.”

“Well, wot if hi did?” retorted Harry.  “Didn’t yer pull the tile off me rockin’-’orse?”

“Well, never mind,” said Bradley, seeing how strained things were getting.  “Don’t quarrel about it now.  It’s all done and gone, and I dare say you were both a little to blame.”

“’Hi war’n’t!” said Harry, and then the subject was dropped.  The children romped in and out through the library and halls for some time, and the Bradleys and Perkinses compared notes on various points of interest to both.  After a while they again reverted to the subject of their children.

“Does Harry go to school?” asked Bessie.