The sermon especially tried
her patience, her cheeks were burning, she felt sick and hardly able
to hold up her head, yet she would not lean it against the wall,
because she had often been told not to do so. She was exceedingly
alarmed to find that her arm had swelled so much that she could
hardly bend it, and it had received the impression of the gathers of
her sleeve; she thought no sermon had ever been so long, but she sat
quite still and upright, as she could not have done, had she not
trained herself unconsciously by her efforts to leave off the trick
of kicking her heels together. She did not speak till she was in the
churchyard, and then she made Emily look at her arm.
'My poor child, it is frightful,' said Emily, 'what is the matter?'
'A wasp stung me just before the Psalms,' said Phyllis, 'and it goes
on swelling and swelling, and it does pant!'
'What is the matter?' asked Mr. Mohun.
'Papa, just look,' said Emily, 'a wasp stung this dear child quite
early in the service, and she has been bearing it all this time in
silence. Why did you not show me, Phyl?'
'Because it was in church,' said the little girl.
'Why, Phyllis, you are a very Spartan,' said Lord Rotherwood.
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