"Did any one ever see such a boy!" continued the termagant, her tones a whole octave above the treble staff, as it seemed to me. "How dare you put your hand on me?"
"I dare."
"You rascal, you!"
"You may snap and snarl at me as much as you like; I don't mind it; but you shall not abuse my sister."
"Abuse your sister, you wretch!" said she, the words hissing from her mouth. "I should like to know!"
"You will know if you touch Flora again," I answered.
Somehow I felt as though Mrs. Fishley was not getting the better of me in this argument; and I soon came to the conclusion that she thought so herself, for she settled into a chair, and began to exhibit some symptoms of hysterics.
"O, dear me!" she groaned. "I don't have to work enough to kill common folks, I don't have more trials than any living being, but something new must come upon me. There, I shall give up!"
"You must give up abusing Flora," I put in.
"How dare you tell me I abuse her?" snapped she. "Haven't I taken the best of care of her? Haven't I made her clothes for her? Haven't I nursed her when she was sick? Haven't I done for her ever since she came into the house?"