I think I must have got a whole lot of that kind of thorn in me just now, for I do feel sore.
Every one has begun to call me Matty, and I can't bear it!
Did you say Matty was rather a pretty name?
Perhaps it is, if it is the proper short for your name; I mean, if you were christened Matilda. But my name's Ginevra!
Now, do you understand that they all call me Matty just to tease me, and I hate it. I do.
I've got as far as adjectives in grammar, so I know that the long horrid word which they put before Matty sometimes is an adjective. I'm not going to write it down here—no, not for any one—because it is such a nasty, unkind word. But it begins with an M. The next letter is an E, and then comes D, and there are seven more letters, I think.
And this is all because the other day it was raining very fast, and there was nothing to do!
There never is anything to do on a wet day; I mean, nothing interesting. Dick plays with me sometimes; but he was reading a story, with dreadful fighting pictures to it, in the Boy's Own Paper, so I knew he wouldn't want to come. And Teddie had gone to sleep in the armchair.
Wasn't that a stupid thing to do?
Well! I was obliged to get something to do—wasn't I? And it wasn't my fault that Ann left the dear little drawing-room bellows behind her, when she came to make up the fire, was it?