"Humph, your hair looks like a stubblefield."
"Children, stop it!" Grandma interrupted. "Ye can have yer druthers. Either ye go to bed or ye get to work."
Paul weighed the choices, then reluctantly opened his science book. But at the very first page he let out a whistle. "Listen to this! 'If the ancients had known what the earth is really like, they would have named it Oceanus, not Earth. Huge areas of water cover seventy per cent of its surface. It is indeed a watery planet.'"
"Now that's right interesting," Grandma said, putting a few sticks of wood into the stove.
"Yes," Maureen pouted, "a lot more interesting than trying to figure how many times 97 goes into 10,241."
Paul waxed to his lesson as a preacher to his sermon. "Listen! 'People used to say the tides were the breathing of the earth. Now we know they are caused by the gra-vi—gra-vi-ta—gra-vi-ta-tion-al pull of the moon and sun.'"
"I do declare!" Grandma said. "It makes my skin run prickly jes' thinkin' about it."