I heard the clock strike six ever so long ago.
Get up and build the fire." "I don't believe it's morning.

You can build it yourself." "No, it's your week.

Besides, you made me do it twice for you your last turn, and I shan't touch it.

Besides, it _is_ morning." Joy rose with a groan, and began to fumble for the matches.

All at once Gypsy heard a very fervent exclamation.
"What's the matter ?" "The old thing's tipped over--every single, solitary match!" Gypsy began to laugh.
"It's nothing to laugh at," chattered Joy; "I'm frozen almost to death, and this horrid old fire won't do a thing but smoke." Gypsy, curled up in the warm bed, smothered her laugh as best she could, to see Joy crouched shivering before the stove-door, blowing away frantically at the fire, her cheeks puffed out, her hands blue as indigo.
"There!" said Joy, at last; "I shan't work any more over it.