y.

"Dropped them? Dropped them? What do you mean--dropped them?"

"I threw them away," said Michael.

"On purpose?"

"Yes. I can do what I like with my own things."

"You ungrateful wicked boy," said Nurse, horrified by such a claim.

"I don't care if I am," Michael answered. "I wanted to give Miss Carthew
a Valentine. Mother would have let me."

"Your mother isn't here. And when she isn't here, I'm your mother," said
Nurse, looking more old and wrinkled and monkey-like than ever.

"How dare you say you're my mother?" gasped the outraged son. "You're
not. You're not. Why, you're not a lady, so you couldn't ever be my
mother."

Hereupon Nurse disconcerted Michael by bursting into tears, and he
presently found himself almost petting her and declaring that he was
very sorry for having been so unkind. He found a certain luxury in this
penitence just as he used to enjoy a reconciliation with the black
kittens. Perhaps it was this scene with Nurse that prompted him soon
afterwards to the creation of another with his sister. The second scene
was brought about by Stella's objection to the humming with which
Michael was somewhat insistently celebrating the advent of Miss Carthew.

"Don't hum, Michael. Don't hum. Please don't hum," Stella begged very
solemnly. "Please don't hum, because it makes my head hurt."

"I _will_ hum, and every time you ask me not to hum, I'll hum more
louder," said Michael.

Stella at once went to the piano in the day-nursery and began to play
her most unmelodious tune. Michael ran to the cupboard and produced a
drum which he banged defiantly. He banged it so violently that presently
the drum, already worn very thin, burst. Michael was furious and
immediately proceeded to twang an over-varnished zither. So furiously
did he twang the zither that finally he caught one of his nails in a
sharp string of the treble, and in great pain hurled the instrument
across the room. Meanwhile, Stella continued to play, and when Michael
commanded her to stop, answered annoyingly that she had been told to
practise.

"Don't say pwactise, you silly. Say practise," Michael contemptuously
exclaimed.

"Shan't," Stella answered with that cold and fat stolidity of demeanour
and voice which disgusted Michael like the fat of cold mutton.

"I'm older than you," Michael asserted.

Stella made no observation, but continued to play, and Michael, now
acutely irritated, rushed to the piano and slammed down the lid.