‘I do try; I wish I was as good as Ada, but I am so naughty and so noisy that I do not know what to do. Every day when I say my prayers I think about being quiet, and not idling at my lessons, and sometimes I do stop in time, and behave better, but sometimes I forget, and I do not mind what I am about, and my voice gets loud, and I let the things tumble down and make a noise, and so it was yesterday.’ Here she looked much disposed to cry.
‘No, no, we will not have any crying this evening,’ said Claude. ‘I do not think you did me much mischief, my head ached just as much before.’
‘That was a thing I wanted to ask you about: William says my crying loud is all habit, and that I must cure myself of it. How does he mean? Ought I to cry every day to practise doing it without roaring?’
‘Do you like to begin,’ said Claude, laughing; ‘shall I beat you or pinch you?’
‘Oh! it would make your head bad again,’ said Phyllis; ‘but I wish you would tell me what he means. When I cry I only think about what makes me unhappy.’
‘Try never to cry,’ said Claude; ‘I assure you it is not pleasant to hear you, even when I have no headache. If you wish to do anything right, you must learn self-control, and it will be a good beginning to check yourself when you are going to cry. Do not look melancholy now. Here comes the tea. Let me see how you will perform as tea-maker.’
‘I wish the evening would not go away so fast!’
‘And what are we to do after tea? You are queen of the evening.’
‘If you would but tell me a story, Claude.’
They lingered long over the tea-table, talking and laughing, and when they had finished, Phyllis discovered with surprise that it was nearly bedtime. The promised story was not omitted, however, and Phyllis, sitting on a little footstool at her brother’s feet, looked up eagerly for it.