"Because! I knew my South America was good."
"Let me see it."
"Nonsense! You do not know the first thing about it." But she gave her little sister the sheet on which the map was drawn. Matilda took it to a table under the window, where the dying light from the western sky fell brightest; and putting both elbows on the table and her head in her hands, studied the map.
"Where is the atlas?"
"What do you want of the atlas?"
"I want to see if it is like."
"It is like, of course, child."
"I can't tell without seeing," Matilda persisted. And Maria grumblingly brought the atlas, open at the map in question. Matilda took it and studied anew.
"It is getting dark," said she at length. "But your South America is crooked, Maria."
"It isn't!" said Maria, vehemently. "How should it be crooked, when we angle it on, just according to the rules?"