"You wouldn't help me over the hard work," said I, "so I shan't give it you now; I'll make my moss-house myself."
"No, you won't," said Philip.
"Yes, I shall," said I.
"No, you won't," he reiterated; "for I shall pull it down as fast as you build it."
"You'd better not," I threatened.
Just then we were called in to dinner. I hid the hatchet, and Philip said no more; but he got out before me, and when I returned to work I found that the moss-house walls, which had cost me so much labour, were pulled to pieces and scattered about the shrubbery. Philip was not to be seen.
My heart had been so set upon my project that at first I could only feel the overwhelming disappointment. I was not a child who often cried, but I burst into tears.
I was sobbing my hardest when Philip sprang upon me in triumph, and laughing at my distress.
"I kept my promise," said he, tossing his head, "and I'll go on doing it."
I am sure those shocks of fury which seize one like a fit must be a devil possessing one. In an instant my eyes were as dry as the desert in a hot wind, and my head reeling with passion. I ran to the hatchet, and came back brandishing it.