“No more I do, ma. I haven’t told what you said about—” Here his mother caught him up, and carried him out of the room, saying:
“You naughty boy! You shall go to bed.”
“Oh, no, I shan’t!”
“Yes, you shall. Here, Jane, take this naughty boy to bed.”
“I’ll scream.”
“Will you?”
“Yes, I will!”
And such a yell was there
Of sudden and portentous birth,
As if...
ten cats were being cooked alive.
“Well! well! well! my Peetie! He shan’t go to bed, if he’ll be a good boy. Will he be good?”