True heroism

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
CHAP.
TIRESOME—how tiresome! another rainy day! cried Tom Gore, turning impatiently from the window.
Pretty sort of holidays these are, truly, muttered Louis. One cannot get out for five minutes for a walk, but back one is driven by a shower! Here's the last day of our Easter holidays, and not one—no, not one fair day have we enjoyed.
Except Sunday, suggested Jessy.
Oh! Sunday—I did not count Sunday. But what are we to make of ourselves all this long morning?
Let's have games, suggested merry little Julia.
What games? We're tired of all.
And we must have nothing that is noisy, on account of old Mrs. Presgrave! No fun! I shall almost be glad to get back to school again, cried Louis, we are so moped up here!
For want of something better to do, Willy, quietly seated in the corner, was cutting a round hole in his drum; a box of paints lay on the table, with which Bella had been daubing, certainly not adorning, the plates in the last book which her uncle had given her. There was a broken draughts-board under the table, but half of the draughtsmen were lost, and Tom and Louis, who had taken to chess, were beginning to quarrel over the game.
I'll move there—check! cried the former, putting down his queen with an air of triumph.
In a moment an ambushed red knight pounced down upon the square, and the white queen was in the hand of Louis.