The paste was made according to her ability, certainly
neither light nor digestible, and was ready for the oven, when suddenly
a giggle behind her made her turn to behold that wretched boy Charlie
dressed in her blue velvet dress, best hat, and parasol.
"You wicked boy, how dare you?" she cried, stamping her foot, but the
boy fled, leaving the skirt on the floor. Picking it up, she gave chase
to recover the hat, and when at last she returned to her pie, she found
that Jack had forestalled her and made cakes for himself out of it and a
marble tart for her.
Eva did not trust herself with the boys that morning; she literally
hated them. Still, she must master herself before she could master them,
and show once and for all that she was able to deal with the situation.
Shutting herself into the parlour, she sat quiet, trying to think and
plan, but in vain--she could not calm herself.
She took up a book and attempted to read and forget her annoyances in
losing herself in the story, but that, too, failed. Her trials were
countless. Not sufficient were to be found in the house, but that
interfering Mrs. Meadows must criticise her singing.
She opened the piano, determined to listen to herself and judge what
truth there was in the remark. She ran over a few scales, but was
interrupted by a rough-looking man shouting, "Stop that noise, and come
here! It'd be better if you looked after the bits of bairns than sit
squealing there like a pig getting killed.
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