Jem laughed over this and Anne laughed again with him. Walter couldn’t endure it. He got up and fled to his room.
“That child has got something on his mind, Mrs. Dr. dear,” said Susan. “He has et next to nothing. Do you suppose he is plotting another poem?”
Poor Walter was very far removed in spirit from the starry realms of poesy just then. He propped his elbow on his open window-sill and leaned his head drearily on his hands.
“Come on down to the shore, Walter,” cried Jem, busting in. “The boys are going to burn the sand-hill grass to-night. Father says we can go. Come on.”