"O, dear, you little, cunning, darling plague, now hush, and let me go
to sleep!"

Then Dotty would plant both feet firmly on Susy's chest, and say, in her
teasing little voice, as troublesome as the hum of a mosquito,--

"Won't you tell me 'tory--tell me a 'tory--tell me a 'tory, Susy."

"Well, what do you want to hear?"

Now, it was natural for Susy to feel cross when she was sleepy. It cost
her a hard struggle to speak pleasantly, and when she succeeded in doing
so, I set it down as one of her greatest victories over herself. The
Quaker motto of her grandmother, "Let patience have her perfect work,"
helped her sometimes, when she could wake up enough to remember it.

"Tell 'bout little yellow gell," said the voice of the mosquito, over
and over again.

Susy roused herself after the third request, and sleepily asked if
something else wouldn't do?

"I had a little nobby-colt."

"No, no, you _di'n't_, you _di'n't_; grandma had the nobby! Tell yellow
gell."

"O," sighed Susy, "how can you want to hear that so many, many times?
Well, once when I was a little bit of a girl--"