puppy's maintenance.
To induce him to apologise properly to his step-father was another
matter. When Sophy told him that he must go to Loring and say that he
was sorry for the dreadful thing that he had done, Bobby became
mutinous.

"But I am _not_ sorry," he protested. "I 'joyed biting him."

"It hurts mother to hear you say that--but that's not the question. What
I _hope_ my little boy is sorry for is for not having been a
gentleman--for having behaved like a wild animal. Even the poor puppy
behaved better than you did. _He_ didn't bite like a little tiger...."

"I'd a bit bigger if I'd been a tagger," said Bobby thoughtfully. "I'd a
bit his han' off, I reckon."

"That's not the question either. Aren't you sorry that you weren't a
gentleman?"

Bobby pondered this. Finally he said:

"I'm very tangled inside of me, mother. I _am_ sorry I didn't be a
gentleman, but I am _not_ sorry I bited him."

Sophy took a deep breath. She put a hand on either of her son's
shoulders, and held him fixed in front of her.

"Now listen, Bobby," she said. "I won't have any more arguments. You are
to go to Morris, at once, and say this: 'I am sorry I was so naughty and
ungentlemanly. I beg your pardon.' Now go. Morris is out there on the
lawn reading a paper. Go there and say those words straight out like a
man."

Bobby gazed earnestly into her eyes, found something in their grey
depths that always conquered him in the end, and turned soberly away.

He went and stood before Loring, his hands behind his back. His face was
very red. His heart filled up his chest and scorched it so that he could
scarcely speak.

"Hullo, little mad-dog," said Loring, looking at him over his paper.
"Haven't they muzzled you yet? Keep your distance, please."

The boy looked stolidly at him.

"I've come to pollygise," he said.

"Oh, you have, have you? Suppose I don't accept your 'pollygy'?"

"Then I'll jus' have to leave it with you," said the boy haughtily.
"This is it: 'I am sorry I didn't be a gentleman. I beg your
pardon'--but mother made me do it," he added all in the same breath.
Then he turned and walked swiftly away. His red curls were getting a
beautiful copper-beech colour as he grew older. Loring, watching his
retreat, wondered if Chesney had had that colour hair. The firm little
nape with its "duck-tails" of purplish-red curls filled him with
detestation. Bobby was going to be a huge man, like his father. He was
as tall at six as