Peter obeyed with some reluctance. ‘See you ain’t a-hurtin’ of your hands, Master Phil,’ he said. ‘You let missie shuffle an’ deal, like a good young gen’l’man.’
‘Oh, you be damned, Peter!’ said Phil hastily, and Peter disappeared into the other room, drawing up his shoulders to his ears in a very expressive fashion.
‘Now, you sit on the end of the bed, Carrie, and we’ll have a jolly time,’ said Phil, his ill-temper as quickly gone as it had come.
Carrie scrambled up on to the stiff yellow satin coverlet, and dealt out the cards across it, while Phil obligingly flattened out his poor little burnt knees to form an even table.
They were deep in their game, when Patty came to take Carrie home. Phil’s cheeks were pink with excitement, and he called out to Peter to go away and let them play on. But Peter, with great unconcern, swept together the cards that lay on the quilt and lifted Carrie to the ground.
‘Peter, you are a beast; leave these cards, I tell you!’ cried Phil.
‘Sorry, Master Phil, ’tis too late,’ said Peter, extending his hand towards the cards that Phil still held; ‘missie must be goin’ now.’
Carrie stood on tiptoe to wave a better adieu to her playmate, but Phil did not notice her; he was gathering together all his sick little strength to avenge himself on the inexorable Peter.
‘There, you devilled flunkey!’ he screamed, pitching the cards into Peter’s face and falling back against the pillows with a sharp cry of pain.
Peter covered the child gently with the bed-clothes, gathered up the cards in silence, and signed to Patty and Carrie to follow him out of the room.