“Oh yes, Master Garnet, I know what they are; clumsy and cruel contrivances to catch my innocent moles.”
“Your moles!” cried Bob, with great wrath arising, as she coolly destroyed two more traps; “why are they your moles, I should like to know? I donʼt believe you have ever even heard of them before.”
“Suppose I have not?” answered Amy, screwing up her lips, as she always did when resolved to have her own way.
“Then how can they be your moles? Oh, if you havenʼt spoiled another!”
“Well, Godʼs moles, if you prefer it, Master Garnet. At any rate, you have no right to catch them.”
“But I only want to catch one, Amy; a white one, oh, such a beauty! I have heard of him since he was born, and had my eye on him down all the galleries; and now he must be full–grown, for he was born quite early in August.”
“I hope heʼll live to be a hundred. And I will thank you, Master Garnet, to speak to me with proper respect.”
Up went another riser. There was only one left now, and that a most especial trap, which had cost a whole weekʼs cogitation.
“I declare you are a most dreadful girl. You donʼt like anything I do. And I have thought so much of you.”
“Then, once for all, I beg you never more to do so. I have often wished to speak with you upon that very subject.”