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Updated: May 11, 2025
And then, don't you know his image? the little white bare boy pulling the thorn out of his foot. Awkey said he was naughty not to have his clothes on, and so I thought it would be such fun to make a militiaman of him, and so the paints were all about, and so I gave him a red coat and black trousers. 'Oh, Maurice, Maurice, how could you? 'I couldn't help it, mamma!
What should you say to that, Maurice? 'Oh! I wouldn't come home to lose the fun, said Maurice. 'Oh, mamma, let me get up to tell Awkey, and run up to Ulick! Gilbert will be the colonel when I'm a cornet! Oh! I must get up!
I did so want to see what Algernon would do! 'Well. 'So he came up and caught us. And wasn't he in a jolly good rage? that's all. He stamped, and called me names, and got hold of me to shake me, but I know I kicked him well, and I had quite a handful out of his whisker; but you see poor little Awkey is only a girl, and couldn't help squalling, so papa came up. 'And in time! said Mr.
'Yes; and there was Awkey crying about their burning papa, and she would not go up to the garret-window to see the fire, nor do anything. 'Why, what is the sword here for? exclaimed Sophy, finding it on the stairs. 'Because then Awkey was not so afraid. For once, Maurice had been exemplary, keeping from the tempting uproar, and devoting himself to soothing his little sister.
It bore date the day after his father's arrival, but it had evidently been continued at many different times; and as the handwriting became more feeble, the style grew more earnest, so that, but for her hoarse, indifferent voice, Sophy could hardly have accomplished the reading. 'My dear Maurice, 'Many, many thanks to you and dear little Awkey for your present.
His wish was broken off, for his little Albinia, screaming, 'Papa! papa! clung to him in a transport of caresses, which Maurice explained by saying, 'Little Awkey has been crying, mamma, she thought they were burning papa in the bonnie. 'Papa not burnt! cried little Awkey, patting his cheeks, and laying her head on his shoulders alternately, as he held her to his breast.
One day, Susan asked me to prevent Master Maurice from teaching baby such ugly words, that she could not sleep not bad words, but she thought they were Latin. So I watched, and I heard Maurice singing out some of the legend of Hiawatha, and insisting on poor little Awkey telling him what m-i-s-h-e-n-a-h-m-a, spelt.
The turn-out of the public-houses come and roar at our gate on Saturday nights; and they write up things on the wall against him! and one day they threw over into the garden what little Awkey called a poor dear dead pussy. I believe they tell them all sorts of absurd things about his tyranny; poor creatures. 'Can't you get it stopped?
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