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?©, Lyda Farrington

"We Ten Or, The Story of the Roses"

"
"Oh, hush up, and go to sleep! you talk entirely too much," Phil
answered back, and taking off his hat, he threw it at me.
The hat didn't touch me,--it barely fell on the edge of the bed,--but it
seemed to me as if I couldn't have felt worse if it had struck me; you
see my feelings were so hurt. Phil likes to order people, and he's
rough, too, sometimes. We know him so well, though, that I don't usually
mind; but this evening he was awfully disagreeable,--so bullying that I
couldn't help feeling hurt and mad.
I felt just like saying something back,--something sharp,--but I knew
that would only make more words, and there was Felix in the next
room,--I didn't want him to be waked up and hear how Phil was going on;
it wouldn't have done any good, you see, and would only have made Fee
unhappy. So I just swallowed down what I was going to say, and bouncing
over on my pillow, I turned my face to the wall, away from Phil. But I
couldn't go to sleep,--you know one can't at a minute's notice,--and I
couldn't help hearing what he was doing about the room.
I heard a clinking noise, as if he were putting silver money down on the
bureau; then, while he was unlacing his boots and dropping them with a
thud on the floor, he began to whistle softly, "O wert thou in the cauld
blast.


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