"
"Oh, nonsense!" reasoned Jerry--
"I tell ye I HATE English history. It makes all me Irish blood
boil." Suddenly she burst into a reproduction of the far-off father,
suiting action to word and climaxing at the end, as she had so often
heard him finish:
"'What IS England? What is it, I say. I'll tell ye! A mane little
bit of counthry thramplin' down a fine race like OURS!' That's what
me father sez, and that's the way he sez it. An' when he brings his
fist down like that--" and she showed Jerry exactly how her father
did it--" when he brings his fist down like THAT, it doesn't matther
how many people are listenin' to him, there isn't one dares to
conthradict him. Me father feels very strongly about English
History. An' I don't want to learn it."
"Is it fair to your aunt?" asked Jerry.
Peg grew sullen and gloomy. She liked to be praised, but all she
ever got in that house was blame. And now he was following the way
of the others. It was hard. No one understood her.
"Is it fair to your aunt?" he repeated.
"No. I don't suppose it is."
"Is it fair to yourself?"
"That's right--scold me, lecture me! You sound just like me aunt, ye
do."
"But you'll be at such a disadvantage by-and-by with other young
ladies without half your intelligence just because they know things
you refuse to learn.
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