I strained every nerve and sinew--it was a matter of life and
death to me--and I have no doubt but I should have won the race in fine
style, if I had not, unfortunately, in my blind haste, run against Miss
Patty Hanson, the primest and worst tempered spinster in Hallswell.
My _momentum_ was such that I knocked Miss Patty from _terra firma_, very
much as the successful ball knocks down the nine-pins; and the _debris_
of the wreck--consisting of a fractured umbrella, a torn calico gown, and
a fearfully dislocated bonnet--Miss Hanson rose up--a Nemesis! And such a
thrashing as I received, at her hand, would have made the blackest
villain out of purgatory confess his sins without prevarication!
I had heard my mother say that no one died till their time had come, and
I felt satisfied that my time _had_ come. I vainly endeavored to repeat,
"Now I lay me down to sleep!"
as both fitting and appropriate to the occasion; but Miss Patty thumped
the words out of me, to the tune of the Umbrella Quickstep, in staccato.
Little Cherry-lips came nobly to the rescue.
"For shame! Miss Hanson," she cried, "to beat a little boy at such a
rate! It won't mend your umbrella, nor straighten your calash! And the
perspiration is washing the paint all out of your cheeks!"
My enemy left me to fly at my defender, whose name was Florence Hay.
Pages:
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182