She began wondering why Papa thought she could not tell him properly,
and forthwith began to give what she intended for a full and
particular history of all that she had gone through.
It was a happy party round the fire; Kate and Sylvia both together in
the large arm-chair, and Lily upon one of its arms; Charles in
various odd attitudes before the fire; Armyn at the table with his
book, half reading, half listening; Mary with her work; and Kate
pouring out her story, making herself her own heroine, and describing
her adventures, her way of life, and all her varieties of miseries,
in the most glowing colours. How she did rattle on! It would be a
great deal too much to tell; indeed it would be longer than this
whole story!
Sylvia and Charlie took it all in, pitied, wondered, and were
indignant, with all their hearts; indeed Charlie was once heard to
wish he could only get that horrid old witch near the horse-pond; and
when Kate talked of her Diana face, he declared that he should get
the old brute of a cat into the field, and set all the boys to stone
her.
Little Lily listened, not sure whether it was not all what she called
"a made-up story only for prettiness;" and Mary, sitting over her
work, was puzzled, and saw that her father was right in saying that
Kate could not at present give an accurate account of herself. Mary
knew her truthfulness, and that she would not have said what she knew
to be invention; but those black eyes, glowing like little hot coals,
and those burning cheeks, as well as the loud, squeaky key of the
voice, all showed that she had worked herself up into a state of
excitement, such as not to know what was invented by an exaggerating
memory.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188