"'Sam,' said she, 'why don't you speak?' and she shook me.
"'Hullo,' sais I, pretendin' to wake up, 'what's the matter! have I
overslept myself? is it time to get up?' and I put out my arm to rub
my eyes, and lo and behold I exposed my coat sleeve.
"'No, Sam,' said she, 'you couldn't oversleep yourself, for you
haven't slept at all, you ain't even ondressed.'
"'Ain't I,' said I, 'are you sure?'
"'Why look here,' said she, throwin' down the clothes and pullin' my
coat over my head till she nearly strangled me.
"'Well, I shouldn't wonder if I hadn't stripped,' sais I. 'When a
feller is so peskilly sleepy as I be, I suppose he is glad to turn in
any way.'
"She never spoke another word, but I saw a storm was brewin, and I
heard her mutter to herself, 'Creation! what a spot of work! I'll have
no teaching of 'mother tongue' here.' Next morning she sent me to
Boston of an errand, and when I returned, two days after, Flora was
gone to live with sister Sally. I have never forgiven myself for that
folly; but really it all came of our being so artless and so innocent.
There was no craft in either of us. She forgot to remove the chair
from the chimbley corner, poor simple-minded thing, and I forgot to
keep my coat sleeve covered. Yes, yes, it all came of our being too
innocent; but that's the way, ladies, I learned Gaelic."
CHAPTER VI.
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