Henry Handel Richardson

“ After dinner, Laura and the boys were dispatched to the garden, to stroll about in Sunday fashion. Here no elder person being present, the natural feelings of the trio came out: the distaste of a quiet little girl for rough boys and their pranks; the resentful indignation of the boys at having their steps dogged by a sneak and a tell-tale. As soon as they had rounded the tennis-court and were out of sight of the house, Erwin and Marmaduke clambered over the palings and dropped into the street, vowing a mysterious vengeance on Laura if she went indoors without them. ”

“ Besides she, Laura, was only a little girl, and felt no fear.—She also asked herself why Joey should suddenly grow concerned about Georgy, when, a moment before, they had been so rude to each other.—These were interesting speculations, and, the chaise having ceased to sway, Laura grew meditative.
In the evening Godmother had a visitor, and Laura sat in a low chair, listening to the ladies’ talk. It was dull work: for, much as she liked to consider herself “almost grown up”, she yet detested the conversation of “real grown-ups” with a child’s heartiness. ”

“ The child sat down on the edge of the lawn under a mulberry tree and propped her chin on her hands. She was too timid to return to the house and brave things out; she was also afraid of some one coming into the garden and finding her alone, and of her then being forced to “tell”; for most of all she feared the boys, and their vague, rude threats. So she sat and waited . . . and waited. The shadows on the grass changed their shapes before her eyes; distant chapel-bells tinkled their quarter of an hour and were still again; the blighting torpor of a Sunday afternoon lay over the world. ”