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“I’m sorry to make you late with your mowing, Billy, but I must have you go out to Mrs. Prettyman’s for some cream she promised me.” The quaint words seemed incongruous for so small a child, as did her self-control; and the accent on the last syllable of “mama” made her seem almost foreign to Billy. Yet he admired her anew as she tried to hold still her trembling lips, to restrain her tears; as she threw up her head, winked hard, and felt vainly for a handkerchief. “But you said you would take me to him. I thought you knew where he is.”.
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Conrad
Locked up! The child’s heart beat stiflingly; yet she did not cry out; she thought self-control would win her more favor than tears. Billy heard her, though. “Come on, sister, mamma, too, and see the fun,” he called, not unwillingly, for he was a bit proud of their work now that it was out in the light of day. He had reason; it was really an imposing craft for boys to build from scraps. Here his laughter became a series of concussions decidedly menacing to his well-being. “Ugh! Confound their impudence, I’ll make them listen yet to something else than rag.”.
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