"What shall _we_ call him ?" "He will be Tou Tou's _brother_," cries Bobby, with a yell of delight.
"Hush!" says Barbara, apprehensively, "he will hear you." "No he will not," I answer, composedly.

"A person would have to bawl even louder than Bobby does, to make him hear: he has gone away for a week; he said he did not wish me to decide in a hurry: he has given me till this day week; I wish it were this day ten years--" "This day week, then," says Algy, walking about with his hands in his pockets, and smiling to himself, "we may hope to see him return in triumph in a blue frock-coat, with the ring and the parson: at that age one has no time to lose." "Haste to the wedding!" cries the Brat at the top of his voice, seizing me by both hands, and forcing me to execute an uncouth war-dance, in unwilling celebration of my approaching nuptials.
"I hope that there will be lots of almonds in the cake!" says Bobby, gluttonously..