"What's that?" she asked.
"Dutch."
"Not reading it for fun?"
"Not if I know myself. It's grammar."
"Isn't it hard, though?"
"Beastly. I can't get it into my head. Don't believe anybody can." And Allyn sat up and vented his spite against the language by hurling a stone against a distant birch tree.
"What are you studying it for now?" Cicely demanded, as Melchisedek scurried, yelping rapturously, in search of the flying stone.
"Got to, or else be conditioned."
"I don't believe it is as bad as that."
"Yes, 'tis. I barely scraped through, last Christmas, and papa told me then that, if I failed now, I couldn't go to Quantuck, but must stay here alone with him and work all summer."