“Come in, Lucy,” said Rollo.
“No,” said Lucy, in a low tone, and shaking her head.
“Yes,” said Rollo, “come in; my father will let us come in.”
But Lucy was afraid of interrupting her uncle, and so she did not come in, immediately; but finding, at length, that her uncle went on with his work without appearing to pay any attention to Rollo, she presently glided in, and took her seat upon a sofa which was upon the side of the room opposite to where her uncle was sitting.
Presently Rollo’s father paused in his work, and laid down a ruler, which he had been using in copying a plan into a letter that he had been writing, upon the table. He then rose from his seat, and turned around to look at Rollo. Rollo immediately began to march back and forth again, trumpeting with his lips, and shooting at his father with his gun.
“Come,” said his father, “I think I should like to have the enemy march out of my kingdom.”
“Why, father,” said Rollo; “I’m not the enemy.”
“O,” said his father, “I thought it was the enemy.”
“Yes, come, Rollo,” said Lucy; “we had better go out.”