"You would speak in temper, I'm afraid, Patty, and that would
spoil all. I'm sorry you can't go up to Ellen's," she sighed,
turning back to her work; "you don't have pleasure enough for one
of your age; still, don't fret; something may happen to change
things, and anyhow the weather is growing warmer, and you and I
have so many more outings in summer-time. Smooth down your hair,
child; there are straws in it, and it's all rough with the wind.
I don't like flying hair about a kitchen."
"I wish my hair was flying somewhere a thousand miles from here;
or at least I should wish it if it did not mean leaving you; for
oh. I'm so miserable and disappointed and unhappy!"
Waitstill bent over the girl as she flung herself down beside the
table and smoothed her shoulder gently.
"There, there, dear; it isn't like my gay little sister to cry.
What is the matter with you to-day, Patty?"
"I suppose it's the spring," she said, wiping her eyes with her
apron and smiling through her tears. "Perhaps I need a dose of
sulphur and molasses."
"Don't you feel well as common?"
"Well? I feel too well! I feel as if I was a young colt shut up
in an attic. I want to kick up my heels, batter the door down,
and get out into the pasture.
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