"Tea-cups," said Felicia.
"'T-e-a-c-' yes, it is tea-cups," Kirk conceded; "how did you know, Phil?—'as big as tea-cups,—staring—at—him. "You're a nice—fellow," said the soldier, and he—sat him—on—the witch's ap-ron, and took as many cop-copper shillings—as his—pockets would hold.'"
"So that's it, is it?" Ken said. "Begin at the beginning, and let's hear it all."
"Ken," said his mother, "that's in the back of the book. You shouldn't encourage him to read things Miss Bolton hasn't given him."
"It'll do him just as much good to read that, as that silly stuff at the beginning. Phil and I always read things we weren't supposed to have reached."
"But for him—" Mrs. Sturgis murmured; "you and Phil were different, Ken. Oh, well,—"
For Kirk had turned back several broad pages, and began:
"There came a soldier marching along the highroad—one, two! one, two! . . ."
Little by little the March twilight settled deeper over the room. There was only a flicker on the brass andirons, a blur of pale blossoms
