‘I am sure it was Phyl that was the most dismayed, and cried the loudest,’ said Lily.
‘That she always does,’ said Jane. ‘On Friday we had an uproar in the schoolroom about her hemming, and on Saturday she tumbled into a wet ditch, and tore her bonnet in the brambles; on Sunday, she twisted her ancles together at church.’
‘Well, there I did chance to observe her,’ said Lily, ‘there seemed to be a constant struggle between her ancles and herself, they were continually coming lovingly together, but were separated the next moment.’
‘And to-day this sum,’ said Jane; ‘seven scrapes in one week! I really am of opinion, as Rachel says when she is angry, that school is the best place for her.’
‘I think so too,’ said Claude.
‘I do not know,’ said Emily, ‘she is very troublesome, but—’
‘Oh, Claude!’ cried Lily, ‘you do not mean that you would have that poor dear merry Master Phyl sent to school, she would pine away like a wild bird in a cage; but papa will never think of such a thing.’
‘If I thought of her being sent to school,’ said Claude, ‘it would be to shield her from—the rule of love.’
‘Oh! you think we are too indulgent,’ said Emily; ‘perhaps we are, but you know we cannot torment a poor child all day long.’
‘If you call the way you treat her indulgent, I should like to know what you call severe.’