The Loom of Destiny
smartly on the ribs. Freckles did not stir.
"You do it, Georgie; you can do it the hardest." Georgie thumped the figure curled up in the bed with all the strength of his arm, remembering past insults to flag and country.
"Wha' 's the matter now?" said Freckles, sleepily.
"It's a lie, Freckles, a hor'ble lie. You did n't really beat us," said Mary Edith.
"The Revolution was won in England by the middle classes in between, and you knew it all the time!"
"And you did n't lick us in the war of 1812, either," cried Georgie. "England had her hands and feet tied, for she was fighting with Napoleon, and that's just the same as if Mary Edith tried to lick Uncle Charley and you at the same time, and she could just send out a few men, just the tiniest few men you can think of."
"And we did n't do a thing to them, did we?" yawned Freckles, settling his head more comfortably down in the pillow.
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