“Now that’s my niece Philly—Philippa, you know, ma’am—and that’s the way she always sleeps. Just like a kitten or a puppy that is dreaming of a fight. Now just you watch!”
With these words, Mrs. Brent took hold of the shoulder of the sleeper, exclaiming:
“Phil! Phil! Wake up! Move farther! You’ll tumble out of the bed!”
The sleeper gave a little growl and a great bounce, and threw herself over on her other side, striking another aggressive attitude, and immediately relapsed into deep sleep. Gloria could not help laughing as she said:
“She is very pretty and very good-humored, I am sure, notwithstanding that she dreams of fights!”
“Oh, yes, she is a good girl enough, but an awful trial for all that!”
“Your niece, you said?”
“Yes, my niece,” repeated the housekeeper, as she covered the sleeping girl and set the candle on the mantelpiece.
Then, while the two undressed and prepared for bed, Mrs. Brent volunteered some further information.
“You see there’s a good many Cummingses round about here, of a good old Scotch family, too. Did you never read of the Red Comyns and the Black Comyns in your school books, honey?”