A row of half a dozen pots on a top shelf, a segment of a plum-cake, and something that looked very like honey in the comb, met their greedy eyes.
"There you are," said D'Arcy.

"What did I tell you! They belong to Wally; he'll be here directly.

You'll be all right--all except _you_," said he, singling out his principal assailant.

"You don't know how to behave, like these other kids.

I shall advise Wally not to waste any of his stuff on you." "I didn't know it was a feast," said the youth, much softened.