Читать книгу The Haven Children; or, Frolics at the Funny Old House on Funny Street онлайн

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Jack speaks: “Rosie, if I was a great King, I would have Hannah for my wife, and eat gooseberry tarts all day long, and Sundays too, and never stop.”

“Sister Daisy,” breaks in Rosie, “do you suspect if the misshenries should give the heathen-crocodiles plenty of gooseberry tarts, they would eat such a many childerns?”

Sister Daisy is, just now, occupied in peering under the napkin’s folds, if, perchance, an extra tart might be there concealed, and wondering if it would be her duty to divide it with all the little ones, so she replied, with some tartness in her tones,—

“How foolish! if you will talk sense, I will answer you,” and Jack replies meekly for his companion—

“Little folks can’t always tell sense, Sister Daisy.”

There is one more package, marked, “From Mamma; not to be opened till an hour after dinner,” and when the hour passed, there were found bright golden bananas and oranges, with their luscious juiciness, to refresh and amuse the weary little travellers.

That fruit did a double duty, for the children braided the banana rinds, made “gums” of the orange-peel, and filliped the pits out of the window, till nothing was left of their feast; then, as the sun went down behind the far-away hills, the little limbs grew weary, little tempers fretful. Daisy then remembered “to be kindly affectionate one toward another,” and with a half-suppressed sigh, closed that interesting book, “Cushions and Corners,” just at that thrilling part when the two children “are making wine jelly, or rather spilling wine jelly on the kitchen floor,” and taking Rosie and Jack, one on either side, she tells them the story of the little Cushions who ever were and remained Cushions, and the little Corners that became Cushions, after much tribulation.