Eleanor had boasted too soon.

We got headaches and backaches with stooping and puzzling.

We cut up all our stuff, but the gores remained obstinate.

By no ingenuity could we combine them so as to be at once in proper order, the right side out, and the right side (of the pattern) up.

I really think we cried over them with weariness and disappointment.
"Algebra's a trifle to it," was poor Eleanor's conclusion.
I went out to clear my brain by a walk, and happening, as I returned, to meet Jack, I confided our woes to him.