"
"Ah, do!" implored Herbert and Eva.
"Ah, don't!" entreated their father. "If there's anything that spoils
the sylvan shades for me, it is to learn that they were once the scene
of battle axes and blood spilling, and such like gruesomeness."
"But we _ought_ to know about it," said Helene. "It's history."
"That makes it all the worse. If it were fiction I wouldn't care."
"Now, Papa," said Rose, "that evinces a depraved taste. People will
blame your home-training. Consider my feelings."
"That is what I supposed I was doing, my dear, in praying to be
delivered from a tale that would make your blood run cold."
"What a delightful way for one's blood to run in this weather," lazily
remarked one of the Boulton girls, and the other said she was pining
for a story of particular horror.
"Oh, a story, by all means," said the Commodore, "but let it be a
tradition or something of that sort." Then turning to the Chief: "Does
not our brother know the legend of the unfortunate wretch of a man who
was set upon and abused by a lot of unmerciful women, because he
barbarously forbade them to learn all the history they wanted?
Something of that sort would be appropriate.
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