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Updated: June 29, 2025
Now, Albert, the game is over. You had better run home to your mother and tell her how much you've enjoyed yourself. When Albert-next-door had gone his uncle sat in the Guy Fawkes armchair and took Alice on his knee, and we sat round the fire waiting till it would be time to let off our fireworks. We roasted the chestnuts he sent Dicky out for, and he told us stories till it was nearly seven.
He told Albert-next-door to drop it, or he wouldn't proceed further in the matter, so Albert stopped screaming, and presently his uncle finished digging him out. Albert did look so funny, with his hair all dusty and his velvet suit covered with mould and his face muddy with earth and crying. We all said how sorry we were, but he wouldn't say a word back to us.
I don't know how grown-ups manage to write all they do. It must make their heads ache, especially lesson books. Albert-next-door only wrote one chapter of the serial story, but he could have done some more if he had wanted to. He could not write out any of the things because he cannot spell. He says he can, but it takes him such a long time he might just as well not be able.
Now don't begin again, Baby, there's nothing to cry about; straw will be your pallet; beside you the gaoler will set a ewer a ewer is only a jug, stupid; it won't eat you a ewer with water; and a mouldering crust will be your food. But Albert-next-door never enters into the spirit of a thing. He mumbled something about tea-time.
But we had to tell Eliza; so we said a friend was coming to dinner and we wanted everything very nice. I think she thought it was Albert-next-door, but she was in a good temper that day, and she agreed to cook the rabbit and to make a pudding with currants in it. And when one o'clock came the Indian Uncle came too.
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