Now on the March day following the night of the brothers' windy talk—
(But suddenly Martin, with a nimble movement, stood upright on his bough, and grasping that to which the swing was attached, shook it with such frenzy that a tempest seemed to pass through the tree, and the girls shrieked and clung to the trunk, and leaves and apples flew in all directions; and Jessica, between clutching at her ropes, and letting go to ward off the cannonade of fruit, gasped in a tumult of laughter and indignation.
Jessica: Have you gone mad, Master Pippin? have you gone mad?
Martin: Mad, Mistress Jessica, stark staring mad! March hares are pet rabbits to me!
Jessica: Sit down this instant! do you hear? this instant! That's better. What fun it was! Aha, you thought you could shake me off, but you didn't. Are you still mad?
Martin: Melancholy mad, since you will not let me rave.
Jessica: You are the less dangerous. But I hate you to be melancholy.
Martin: It is no one's fault but yours. How can I be jolly when my story upsets you?
Jessica: How do you know it upsets me?
Martin: You put out your tongue at me.