It was the voice of
little Moxy, the Sarpint o' the Prairies.
"I ain't wore out, father! I'm good for another go."
"I ain't neither, gov'nor. I got a lot more work in me!"
"No, nor me," cried the third. "I likes London. I can stand on my head
twice as long as Tommy Blake, an he's a year older 'n I am."
"Hold your tongues, you rascals, an' go to sleep," growled the father,
pretending to be angry with them. "What right have you to be awake at
this time o' the night--an' i' Lon'on too? It's not like the country, as
you very well know. I' the country you can do much as you like, but not
in the town! There's police, an' them's there for boys to mind what
they're about. You've no call to be awake when your father an' mother
want to be by theirselves--a listenin' to what they've got to say to one
another! Us two was man an' wife afore you was born!"
"We wasn't a listenin', father. We was only hearin' 'cause we wasn't
asleep. An' you didn't speak down as if it was secrets!"
"Well, you know, b'ys, there's things as fathers and mothers can
understand an' talk about, as no b'y's fit to see to the end on, an' so
they better go to sleep, an' wait till their turn comes to be fathers
an' mothers theirselves.
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