CHAPTER II Fowl for Dinner
"Oh, don't the days seem lank and long
When all goes right and nothing wrong;
And isn't your life extremely flat
With nothing whatever to grumble at?"
I hope you are not quite deafened yet, for though I have got
through the introductions, tea is not nearly finished, so we must
stay in the nursery a little longer: All the time I have been
talking Pip has been grumbling at the lack of good things. The
table was not very tempting, certainly; the cloth looked as if it
had been flung on, the china was much chipped and battered, the tea
was very weak, and there was nothing to eat but great thick slices
of bread and butter. Still, it was the usual tea, and everyone
seemed surprised at Pip's outburst.
"My father and Esther" (they all called their young stepmother
by her Christian name) "are having roast fowl, three vegetables,
and four kinds of pudding," he said angrily; "it isn't fair!"
"But we had dinner at one o'clock, Pip, and yours is saved as
usual," said Meg, pouring out tea with a lavish allowance of hot
water and sugar.
"Boiled mutton and carrots and rice pudding!" returned her brother
witheringly. "Why shouldn't we have roast fowl and custard and
things?"
"Yes, why shouldn't we?" echoed little greedy Bunty; his eyes
lighting up.
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