When I came away, she got up to see me off; and I almost felt tempted to carry her into the gig and drive her off." "I don't think that would have done, Will." "I don't suppose anything will do.

We all know what happens to the child who cries for the top brick of the chimney.

The child has to do without it.

The child goes to bed and forgets it; but I go to bed,--and can't forget it." "My poor Will!" Then he got up and shook himself, and stalked about the garden,--always keeping within a few yards of his sister's chair,--and carried on a strong battle within his breast, struggling to get the better of the weakness which his love produced, though resolved that the love itself should be maintained.
"I wish it wasn't Sunday," he said at last, "because then I could go and do something.

If I thought that no one would see me, I'd fill a dung-cart or two, even though it is Sunday.