d indoors the next. This upset her temper, and at night
she had nightmares, in which she saw clouds of smoke crawling in at her
window, snakes on the floor, and crimson flames darting at her from the
ceiling. It was because she was in an abnormal condition of health that
the idea of doing something with Hamlet had gained such a hold upon her.
She considered the matter from every point of view. She did not want to
be cruel to the dog; she supposed that after a week or two he would be
quite happy with his new master, and, in any case, he had strolled in
so casually upon the Cole family that he was accustomed to a wandering
life.

She did not intend that anyone should know. It was to be a deep secret
all of her own.

Jeremy was going to school in September, and before then she must make
him friendly to her again. She saw stretching in front of her all the
lonely autumn without him and her own memories of the miserable summer
to make her wretched. She was an extremely sentimental little girl.

As always happens when one is meditating with a placated conscience a
wicked deed, the opportunity was suddenly offered to Mary of achieving
her purpose. One morning Jeremy, after refusing to listen to one of
Mary's long romances, lost his temper.

"I can't stop," he said. "You bother and bother and bother. Aunt Amy
says you nearly make her mad."

"I don't care what Aunt Amy says," Mary on the edge of tears replied.

"Hamlet and I are going out. And I'm sick of your silly old stories."
Then he suddenly stopped and gazed at Mary, who was beginning, as usual,
to weep.

"Look here, Mary, what's been the matter with you lately? You're always
crying now or something. And you look at me as though I'd done something
dreadful. I haven't done anything."

"I--never--said you--had," Mary gulped out. He rubbed his nose in a way
that he had when he was puzzled.

"If it's anything I do, tell me. It's so silly always crying. The
holidays will be over soon, and you've done nothing but cry."

"You're--never--with me--now," Mary sobbed.

"Well, I've been busy."

"You haven't. You can't be busy all--by yourself."

"Oh, yes, you can." He was getting impatient. "Anyway, you might let
Hamlet and me alone. You're always bothering one of us."

"No, I'm not." She choked an enormous sob and burst out with: "It's
always Hamlet now. I wish he'd never--come. It was much nicer before."

Then he lost his temper. "Oh, you're a baby! I'm sick of you