“‘The sun was——’”
Pauline folded her arms. “I won’t write another word about the sun,” she said.
“Well, the moon—” said Lynn beseechingly. “Just say ‘the moon looked like a far-off silver boat.’”
“No,” said Paul; “you’ve said once it looked like a starved baby.”
“I didn’t,” said Lynn indignantly.
“Yes—‘young and thin,’ that’s the same thing,” said Pauline. “Now get on to something else. What about the key?”
“‘The key lay on the ground’,” said Lynn resignedly, “‘and sparkled in the darkness’.”
“Keys don’t sparkle in the darkness, but go on,” said Paul, writing away.
“This one did,” persisted the poor little authoress; “the fairies had smeared it with that phis,—phos,—oh, you know, that lovely shiny stuff we saw on the sea at night when we were in the ship.”
“I know,” shouted Max; “lat-poison, like they put down at the tables to kill the lats.”