“I’ll try not to mind,” she said, slowly. “Let’s build some more houses, a whole village; yours is so pretty.”
“Oh, my gwief!” ejaculated Tod. “I wanted to see if you would fight that Bible way, an’ you did, an’ I’m awful sorwy I made you, ’twas such a splendid soldier.”
“I just wanted to show it to papa,” sighed Maybee, furtively wiping away a few tears.
Tod sprang up, and set both feet squarely on the dainty snow-house. “There! my’ll punish my’s own self,” he cried, forgetting his nominative case in his excitement. “My is sorwy as my can be, my never will do so again. Please, won’t you forgive my this time?” and putting both arms around her neck, the little fellow burst into tears.
“I declare, there must be a thaw,—such a freshet! What is the matter?” asked Dick Vance, coming up the walk, and sitting down beside them.
Tod explained as well as he could.
“I don’t feel much bad now,” said Maybee, “but I think that kind of fighting is better to talk about than ’tis to do! Seems’s if it was a miser’ble kind of a world,—the good times all chopped up so you can’t get only the littlest bit to once.”
“That’s so,” said Dick, gravely. “I’ve just been riled myself, and know how it feels.”
“Did you fump ’em, or fight th’ other way,” inquired Tod, eagerly.
“I’m afraid I ‘fumped,’—that is, I felt real cross—”