, and Alwyn dashed off
to inquire of all the household after him. His father meanwhile
growled at the child's noise, and went on trying the glasses Nuttie had
brought, and pronouncing each pair in turn useless, vowing that it was
no use to send her anywhere.

Upon this, back came Alwyn, terribly distressed and indignant, for he
had extracted from the housemaid left in charge, who was as cross as
she was trustworthy, 'What! that old broken thing, Master Egremont? I
threw it on the fire! I'd never have thought a young gentleman of your
age would have cared for such rubbish as that.'

'You are a wicked cruel woman,' returned Alwyn, with flashing eyes; 'I
shall tell papa and sister of you.'

And in he flew, sobbing with grief and wrath for the dear Sambo,
feeling as if it had been a live donkey burnt to death, and hiding his
face on his sister's breast for consolation.

'Come, come, Wyn,' said his father, who did not brook interruption;
'here's half a sovereign to go and buy a new donkey.'

'It won't be Sambo,' said Alwyn ruefully.

'But you should thank papa,' said Nuttie.

'Thank you, papa,' he said, with quivering lip, 'but I don't want a new
one. Oh Sambo, Sambo! burnt!' and he climbed on Nuttie's lap, hid his
face against her and cried, but her comfortings were broken off by,
'How can you encourage the child in being so foolish? Have done, Wyn;
don't be such a baby! Go out with nurse and buy what you like, but I
can't have crying here.'

He tried to stop in sheer amazement, but the ground swell of sob could
not be controlled. Nuttie was going to lead him away, and console him
with more imaginative sympathy than could be expected from the maids,
but her father sharply called her back. He wanted her himself, and
indeed there was no question which was the worse spoilt child. He
might idolise Alwyn, but not so as to clash with his own comforts. The
glasses being unsuccessful, Nuttie proposed to drive back to Ludgate
Hill for him to choose for himself, but he would not hear of going into
the heat of the City, and growled at her for thinking of such a thing.

They took an aimless drive instead in the park, and Nuttie was nearly
baked while the carriage was stopped for her father to have a long talk
over the prospects of the Derby day with one of his most unpleasant
associates, who stood leaning over the door on the shady side of the
carriage, no one recking how little protection she derived from her
small