Her love of music was a terrible trial to the medical student of the family on Saturday morning, when he was endeavoring to read at home.
"Carlyle says somewhere: 'Give, oh, give me a man who sings at his work!'" growled Athelstane one day, bursting forth from his den to complain of the nuisance, "but I bet the old buffer didn't write that sentiment with a maid-servant howling popular songs in the next room.
According to all accounts he loathed noise and couldn't even stand the crowing of a cock.

I should call that bit of eloquence just bunkum.

If the orphan doesn't stop this voice-production business I shall have to go and slay her.

How _can_ a fellow study in the midst of such a racket?
Where's the Mater?
Down in Grovebury?
I suppose that accounts for it.
While the cat's away, &c." "Hardly complimentary to compare your maternal relative to a cat!" chuckled Ingred.

"Stop the orphan if you can, but you might as well try to stop the brook! She's quiet for five minutes then bursts out into song again like a chirruping cricket or a croaking corn-crake.