Max had tumbled twice through a hole in the lattice roof, and had on each occasion blotted Pauline’s precious MS by the precipitation of his whole body upon it.
Sore, therefore, about his knees and elbows, he had given up his lofty perch and betaken himself to his oft-essayed task of digging a hole in the ground, to reach the fire that the kindergarten governess had informed him burnt in the middle of the earth.
And Muffie now occupied the seat on the summer-house roof, and did not lose the opportunity of demonstrating to Max that girls kept their balance much better than boys.
“I’ve finished—come and listen,” cried Pauline at last.
[p162]
Lynn sat upright at once and tried to disentangle her drama from her story. Muffie slid comfortably down from her perch. But Max was not ready.
“Wait a minte,” he cried, “I’m nearly down to the fire—oh, oh, I can feel it on my hand—I b’leeve my spade’s aginning to melt.”
But Pauline insisted on his instant attendance within doors.
“‘Once upon a time’,” she began, “‘there was a beautiful mother’.”
“As beautiful as ours?” asked Lynn.
“Beautifuller,” said Pauline.