Royal made no reply, but tumbled over upon the sofa, holding his sides, and every minute repeating, at the intervals of the paroxysm, “Long part—second metre!—O dear me!”
“Royal,” said Lucy again, stamping with her little foot upon the carpet, “I tell you, you shall not laugh.”
Then suddenly she seized a little twig which she had by her side, and which she had provided as a rod to punish her imaginary scholars with; and, starting up, she ran towards Royal, saying, “I’ll soon make you sober with my rod.”
Royal immediately jumped up from the sofa, and ran off,—Lucy in hot pursuit. Royal turned into the back entry, and passed out through an open door behind, which led into a little green yard back of the house. There was a young lady, about seventeen years old, coming out of the garden into the little yard, with a watering-pot in her hand, just as Royal and Lucy came out of the house.
She stopped Lucy, and asked her what was the matter.
“Why, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “Royal keeps laughing at me.”
Miss Anne looked around to see Royal. He had gone and seated himself upon a bench under an apple-tree, and seemed entirely out of breath and exhausted; though his face was still full of half-suppressed glee.
“What is the matter, Royal?” said Miss Anne.
“Why, he is laughing at my school,” said Lucy.
“No, I am not laughing at her school,” said Royal; “but she was going to give out a hymn, and she said——”