“What time do they go to bed here?”
“Nine in summer—eight in winter.”
“Hum-m-m! I know now. And do they stay out in that yard all the time?”
“Oh, no. As soon as it gets dusk we come in, have supper, and then the larger girls practice their music, or read, or write to their friends or study, or sew, or do whatever they like; and the little girls of your division play about the halls and passages.”
“Um-m-m! I see,” said Pet, in the same musing tone, while her wicked eyes, under their long, dark lashes, were twinkling with the very spirit of mischief. “Could you get me a good long cord, do you think? I want it for something.”
“Yes, I think so. Do you want it now?”
“Very well; wait here till I go up to my room and get it for you,” said the unsuspecting young lady.
“Oh, ching-a-ring-a-ring-chaw!” shouted Pet, dancing round the long room with irrepressible glee, when she found herself alone. “Oh, won’t I have fun to-night! Won’t I show them what spiritual rapping is! Won’t there be weeping and gnashing of teeth before morning!
‘Mrs. MacShuttle, She lived in a scuttle, Along with her dog and her cat.’”