"One can play games on a Sunday," answered her brother.
"Where's the odds? It's all Sunday's good for, I think."
"William! William!" sounded the shocked voice of little
Ellen Chauncey "you are a real wicked boy!"
"Well, now!" said William, "how am I wicked? Now say I should like to know. How is it any more wicked for us to play games than it is for Aunt Sophia to lie a-bed and sleep, or for Uncle Howard to read novels, or for Grandpa to talk politics, or for mother to talk about the fashions? there were she and Miss What's-her-name for ever so long this morning doing everything but make a dress. Now which is the worst?"
"Oh, William! William! for shame! for shame!" said little
Ellen again.
"Do hush, Ellen Chauncey, will you?" said Marianne, sharply; "and you had better hush too, William, if you know what is good for yourself. I don't care whether it's right or wrong, I do get dolefully tired with doing nothing."
"Oh, so do I!" said Margaret, yawning. "I wish one could sleep all Sunday."
"I'll tell you what," said George "I know a game we can play, and no harm either, for it's all out of the Bible."
"Oh, do you? let's hear it, George," cried the girls.
"I don't believe it is good for anything if it is out of the
Bible," said Margaret. "Now stare, Ellen Chauncey, do!"
"I ain't staring," said Ellen, indignantly; "but I don't believe it is right to play it, if it is out of the Bible."