“Well,” resumed Lucy, “the poor, little, naked creature was whining piteously in the rain, and pawing against that alley-gate over yonder by that large tree; and when this ferocious man, whom Mary thinks so terrible, saw him, he stopped, then moved on, then stopped again, and at last, seeing that the little thing had been shut out, he actually walked across the street and opened the gate for him!”
“That was very sweet of my Don!” chimed in Alice.
“Yes,” urged Lucy, with gentle warmth, “you girls may laugh, and you, Mr. Whacker, may smile—”
“Upon my word—”
“Oh, I saw you—but the ferocity of a man who is tender with children and kind to brutes is ferocity of a very mild form, and I—”
“Speech! speech!” cried Alice, clapping her hands. And Lucy sank back in her chair, blushing at her own eloquence.
“Order! order! ladies and gentlemen,” cried Alice, gravely tapping on the table with a spool. “Sister Rolfe, the convention would be pleased to hear from you, at this stage of the proceedings, a continuation of your very edifying observations touching the lord Don Miff’s exceedingly alarming eyes. Sister Rolfe has the floor—order! The chair must insist that the fat lady on the sofa come to order!”
The last remark was levelled at her mother, who had a singular way of laughing; to wit, shaking all over, without emitting the slightest sound, while big tears rolled down her cheeks. Alice was the idol of her heart, and her queer freaks of vivacious drollery often set her mother off, as at present, into uncontrollable undulations of entirely inaudible laughter.
“The fat lady on the sofa, I am happy to be able to announce to the audience, is coming to.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Carter, wiping her eyes, “and do you cease your crazy pranks till the fat lady gets her breath. What were you going to say, Mary?”