Cousin Becky's Champions by Eleanora H. Stooke

"Is that you, Edgar, darling? Come to the fire and warm yourself. It's snowing, isn't it?"

"Yes, mother. I hope we shall have a good downfall. If it snows like this all through the night we shall be able to make a snow man in the playground to-morrow. Won't that be jolly?"

It was an afternoon several days subsequent to the one on which Mrs. Marsh had called on her relatives in Princess Street; and the scene was the spacious drawing-room at the Rookery, which, with a big coal fire burning in the grate, and its handsome, well-chosen furniture, was a picture of comfort, not to say luxury. Mrs. Marsh sat near the fireplace, a small table bearing tea-things, a plate of thin bread and butter, and part of a rich cake in a silver cake-basket at her side. She had been entertaining callers, but they had left early on account of the snowstorm which had been threatening. Edgar, who had just returned from school, flung his satchel of lesson-books into a corner of the room, and, advancing to the tea-table, helped himself to a hunk of cake. His mother watched him with an indulgent smile; she was naturally very proud and fond of her son, who was indeed a very nice-looking little lad, with his bright blue eyes, fresh complexion, and curly, brown hair.

"Are your feet wet, dearie? " she inquired anxiously, as she poured him out a cup of tea.

"No," he answered untruthfully, for he knew they were. He sat down and tucked his feet out of sight under the chair. "Give me plenty of cream and sugar, please, mother," he said. "This is a very good cake."

"Yes; but had you not better eat some bread and butter with it? It is very rich."

He paid no heed to her suggestion, however, and there was silence for a few minutes till he cut himself a second slice of cake as large as the first.

"My dear child-" began Mrs. Marsh expostulatingly; but Edgar interrupted her:

"Oh, mother, don't fuss!"

"I merely speak for your good, my darling, I-"

"I do wish you wouldn't keep on calling me 'dearie' and 'darling' and names of that sort; it's so silly, just as though I was a baby, and it makes people laugh, and I hate being laughed at! " The boy spoke petulantly with deepening colour, but his eyes drooped beneath his mother's reproachful glance. "I don't believe Roger's mother would be so foolish," he added, "and Roger says you treat me as though I was a girl."

Mrs. Marsh looked both hurt and angry, but she made no response. Her affection for her son showed itself in words of exaggerated endearment, and he was now of an age to greatly dislike being made to appear ridiculous. It had been at his father's wish that he had been entered as a pupil at the Grammar School; Mrs. Marsh had wanted to have him educated by a tutor at home, but her husband had been too wise to listen to her views on the point of their son's education. Edgar should go to a public school, he had firmly declared, the boy would soon find his level there; and that he was certainly doing, the process proving rather a humbling one. Master Edgar Marsh was not quite such an important person in his own estimation to-day as he had been at the commencement of the school only a few weeks previously.

"I walked as far as the corner of Princess Street with Roger this afternoon," Edgar informed his mother by-and-by. "I should not like to live where he does, I told him so."

"What did he say? " asked Mrs. Marsh curiously.

"He didn't say anything, but he got very red and looked angry. He very soon gets angry, you know, and I don't think he liked what I said."

"I thought you told me the other day that you didn't care for Roger, and that you never meant to speak to him again," Mrs. Marsh observed with a slight smile.

"Oh," the little boy exclaimed, appearing somewhat confused, "that was because he hit me; but-but it was partly my fault for-never mind about that! Afterwards he said he was sorry, and we've been better friends since. Roger's all right when you come to know him."

"I'm glad to hear that, because he's your cousin, and though, unfortunately for him, his position in life will be very different from yours, I shouldn't like you to quarrel with him. Your Uncle Martin and I were devoted to each other when we were children; indeed, I've always been much attached to my brother, and I've always made it my first duty to be kind to his family."

"It must be very cold travelling to-day," Edgar remarked, glancing out of the window at the falling snow. "Is it a long journey from London to Beaworthy, mother?"

"Yes; do you know anyone who is making it?"