They just shrieked, "Touch me not!" behind the glass doors in the library.

I hate sewing.

I mean _Marie_ hates it.
Aunt Jane says Mary's got to learn.
For a time I just walked around the different rooms downstairs, looking at the chairs and tables and rugs all _just so_, as if they 'd been measured with a yardstick.

Marie jerked up a shade and pushed a chair crooked and kicked a rug up at one corner; but Mary put them all back properly--so there wasn't any fun in that for long.
After a while I opened the parlor door and peeked in.

They used to keep it open when Mother was here; but Aunt Jane doesn't use it.