“Well, laugh at them,” said Weenie; “every one laughs at me, ’tisn’t fair.”
One evening she came bursting into the dining-room where the boys were with a closely-written diary page in her hand.
“Said I’d get it,” she screamed triumphantly; “such fun; just listen, boys.”
“Don’t be a little sneak,” Clif said, “you know Dolly wouldn’t like it.”
“Pooh,” said Weenie, “she laughed at mine. I didn’t like it.”
“You’re only a kid,” Clif said.
“Go on, let’s hear,” said Richie, “it’s quite fair—they laughed like anything over Weenie’s.”
“Jan. 24th:” read Weenie. “Fifteen to-day, fifteen long years gone over my head. Sometimes I ask myself what use I am in the world, and I cannot help answering, not one bit. But from to-day I really will try to do better. I will earnestly try to conquer my temper, to be more patient with Weenie and the boys, and to help mother better.
“Jan. 25th.—Weenie is really the most aggravating little wretch in the world; no one could be patient and live long with her. But I will not give up my chair at the wash-stand.”
[272]
]But here Dolly burst into the room, snatched the page away, called Weenie dishonourable, mean, and other epithets.