"Well, my dear, I didn't wait to hear no more, but I opened my satchel an'
took out one of my slippers an' give that child a lickin' that he'll
remember when he's a grandparent. 'Hereafter,' says I, 'when I tell you to
do anythin', you'll do it. I'll speak kind the first time an' firm the
second, and the third time the whole thing will be illustrated so plain
that nobody can't misunderstand it. Your pa has took me into a confidence
game,' says I, speakin' to all the children, 'but I was never one to draw
back from what I'd put my hand to, an' I aim to do right by you if you do
right by me. You mind,' says I, 'an' you won't have no trouble; an' the
same thing,' says I to James, 'applies to you.'

"I felt sorry for all those poor little motherless things, with a liar for
a pa, an' all the time I lived there, I tried to make up to 'em what I
could, but step-mas have their sorrers, my dear, that's what they do, an'
I ain't never seen no piece about it in the paper yet, either.

"If you'll excuse me now, my dear, I'll go to my room. It's just come to
my mind now that this here is one of my anniversaries, an' I'll have to
look up the facts in my family Bible, an' change my ring."

At dinner-time the chastised and chastened twin appeared in freshly
starched raiment. His eyes were swollen and his face flushed, but
otherwise his recent painful experience had remarkably improved him. He
said "please" and "thank you," and did not even resent it when Willie
slyly dropped a small piece of watermelon down his neck.

"This afternoon," said Elaine, "Mr. Perkins composed a beautiful poem. I
know it is beautiful, though I have not yet heard it. I do not wish to be
selfish in my pleasure, so I will ask him to read it to us all."

The poet's face suddenly became the colour of his hair. He dropped his
napkin, and swiftly whispered to Elaine, while he was picking it up, that
she herself was the subject of the poem.

"How perfectly charming," said Elaine, clearly. "Did you hear, Mrs. Carr?
Poor little, insignificant me has actually inspired a great poem. Oh, do
read it, Mr. Perkins? We are all dying to hear it!"

Fairly cornered, the poet muttered that he had lost it--some other
time--wait until to-morrow--and so on.

"No need to wait," said Dick, with an ironical smile. "It was lost, but
now is found. I came upon it myself, blowing around unheeded under the
library window, quite like a common bit of paper."

Mr. Perkins was transfi