In view of these last circumstances, he suppressed the apology he was about to make for his late unpleasant remarks.
“It never will do to give up too much to girls,” he reasoned, draining the last drop of cream from the pitcher.
“Your grandmamma is coming over from Brookline this afternoon in the carriage, to take the two of you home with her to spind the night.”
This was Kathleen back again at the nursery door, and wiping her face with her apron as she unburdened herself of this forgotten bit of news.
“You won’t run away to sea now,” besought Emily, with imploring eyes.
“Maybe I mightn’t,” shouted Will, tossing up his cap in glee at this unexpected prospect of fun.
It was now only the middle of the long summer day. Such a tiresome journey as the sun had to go before it rolled quite away in the west! Will longed to give it a push, and to hurry up the clock to strike five, the hour when they should be on their way to beautiful Brookline.
Impatient little Will! Emily kindly helped him to get through with the lagging time. At her suggestion, he played ball a while on the lawn, while from time to time she nodded encouragingly to him through the open window. By and by the ball bounded up into a spout, cuddling down among some soft old maple leaves, where Will could not see it. Thereupon Will came into the house in a great pet, storming about till he was persuaded to sit on the floor and paste pictures in his scrap-book.
This quiet occupation did not amuse him long. His fingers, his chin, his cheeks, his curls even soon became stiff with mucilage. Mucilage on his trouser knees, mucilage on his jacket elbows—in fact, mucilage everywhere on and around him.
Emily, after having, with great painstaking, washed her brother and all the surrounding furniture, proposed that he should study a Latin lesson. The book soon went down with a bang. “Because,” as Will sulkily explained to his sighing sister, “it made his head buzz.”