Cakes! Cakes! My good hot cakes! The old cake woman had resumed her nightly tour, and again we heard her rapid footsteps and her shrill¹ refrain. Always at the same hour, with the regularity² of an automaton³, she went by our house. And the long winter recommenced in the same manner as had the preceding ones, and as were similarly to begin the following two or three years.  
Our neighbors, the D——-s, accompanied by Lucette, always came at eight o'clock Sunday evenings, and another neighbor visited us also upon this same evening. These latter brought with them their little daughter Marguerite, who gradually insinuated⁴ herself into my affections.
 
That year Marguerite and I brought the Sunday winter evenings, over which the thought of the tasks of the morrow brooded sadly, to a close with an entirely⁵ new amusement. After the tea, when I felt that the party was about to break up, I would hurry little Marguerite into the dining-room, and there we rushed madly about the round table and tried to catch or tag each other,—we played furiously. It goes without saying that she was usually caught immediately and tagged very often, and I scarcely ever; it therefore fell out that it was almost always her turn to chase me, and she did it desperately⁶. We struck the table with our bodies, and yelled, and carried on our play with the greatest imaginable uproar⁷. We succeeded in turning up the rugs, in disarranging the chairs, and in making havoc⁸ of everything. We soon tired of our play, however,—the truth is I was too old to care greatly for such frolics. I had scarcely any feeling save one of melancholy⁹ in spite of the wild sport I indulged in, for over me hovered¹⁰ the chilling thought that in the morning the usual round of dry and laborious¹¹ lessons would begin. My furious revel¹² was simply a way of prolonging that day of truce¹³, of making it count to its very last moment; it was an attempt to divert my thoughts by making plenty of noise. It was also my way of hurling¹⁴ a defiance¹⁵ at those tasks that I had left undone¹⁶. My negligence¹⁷ troubled my conscience and disturbed my sleep, and caused me finally to look over, hastily and feverishly¹⁸, by the feeble light of a candle, or by the cold gray light of early dawn, the neglected lessons, before the coming of the despised hour in which I betook myself to school.
 
There was always a little

Join or Log In! You need to log in to continue reading

Create a new account   I have a account already

	Create an New Account
Email:  (User Name)
Password:	Letters and numbers only. 6-20 characters.
Retype Password:
Screen Name:	Letters and numbers only. 6-50 Characters.
Confirmation Code:	(Please type in the characters in the green image.)

	Login into Your Account
Email:
Password:
	Remember me on this computer.