I found it in Father's library.) Of course not _just_ like it, only one of me was going to be bad, and one good, I was afraid, if I didn't look out.

I told him how Marie always wanted to kick up rugs, and move the chairs out of their sockets in the carpet, and leave books around handy, and such things.

And so to-day it seemed as if I'd just got to have a vacation from Mary's hot gingham dresses and clumpy shoes.

And I told him how lonesome I was without anybody, not _anybody_; and I told about Charlie Smith and Paul Mayhew and Mr.Claude Livingstone, and how Aunt Jane wouldn't let me have them, either, even if I was standing where the brook and river meet.
Father gave another funny little grunt here, and got up suddenly and walked over to the window.

I thought at first he was angry; but he wasn't.