Chapter 3 - Page 2

'But I shall.'

'Please - don't.'

Graham waxed inexorable on hearing the pleading tone; he took the scissors from his mother's work-casket.

'Here goes!' said he, making a menacing flourish. 'Right through Fido's head, and splitting little Harry's nose.'

'No! No! NO!'

'Then come to me. Come quickly, or it is done.'

She hesitated, lingered, but complied.

'Now, will you have it?' he asked, as she stood before him.

'Please.'

'But I shall want payment.'

'How much?'

'A kiss.'

'Give the picture first into my hand.'

Polly, as she said this, looked rather faithless in her turn. Graham gave it. She absconded a debtor, darted to her father, and took refuge on his knee. Graham rose in mimic wrath and followed. She buried her face in Mr. Home's waistcoat.

'Papa - papa - send him away!'

'I'll not be sent away', said Graham.

With face still averted, she held out her hand to keep him off.

'Then, I shall kiss the hand', said he; but that moment it became a miniature fist, and dealt him payment in a small coin that was not kisses.

Graham not failing in his way to be as wily as his little playmate - retreated apparently quite discomfited; he flung himself on a sofa, and resting his head against the cushion, lay like one in pain. Polly, finding him silent, presently peeped at him. His eyes and face were covered with his hands. She turned on her father's knee, and gazed at her foe anxiously and long. Graham groaned.

'Papa, what is the matter?' she whispered.

'You had better ask him, Polly.'

'Is he hurt?' (groan second.)

'He makes a noise as if he were', said Mr. Home.

'Mother', suggested Graham, feebly, 'I think you had better send for the doctor. Oh my eye!' (renewed silence broken only by sighs from Graham.)

'If I were to become blind --?' suggested this last.

His chastiser could not bear the suggestion. She was beside him directly.

'Let me see your eye: I did not mean to touch it, only your mouth; and I did not think I hit so very hard.'

Silence answered her. Her features worked, 'I am sorry; I am sorry!'

Then succeeded emotion, faltering, weeping.

'Have done trying that child, Graham', said Mrs. Bretton.

'It is all nonsense, my pet', cried Mr. Home.

And Graham once more snatched her aloft, and she again punished him; and while she pulled his lion's locks, termed him:

'The naughtiest, rudest, worst, untruest person that ever was.'

On the morning of Mr. Home's departure, he and his daughter had some conversation in a window-recess by themselves; I heard part of it.

'Couldn't I pack my box and go with you, papa?' she whispered earnestly.

He shook his head.

'Should I be a trouble