“Am I?” asked the Ogre, with a tremendous yawn.
“Why, you’ve done nothing but gape ever since I came in. I believe you are getting quite lazy and good-for-nothing.”
“I believe so too.”
“Well, why don’t you do something?”
“I think I will.” Another yawn. “I’ll go to bed. Ten o’clock, by Jove! What a shocking hour for well-behaved young ladies to be up! Come, Fairy, I will do something some day. Is father better?”
“Yes, he is sleeping quite soundly.” Shaking her head and speaking in a solemn little whisper: “O you naughty boy!”
Clear eyes, clear heart, clear conscience! How your mild innocence pierces through and through us, rebuking the secret that we think so safely hidden in the far-away depths of our souls! That gentle little reproof of my sister smote me to the heart.
“Why, Roger, what is the matter with you?”
“It’s a fly; a—something in my eye—nothing. Let go my hands, Nell.”
“Look me in the face, sir. You are crying, Roger. You have been pretending. You were not sleepy a bit. Dear, dear! Don’t go on like that; you make me cry too.”