a
white-hot snowball. His yellow eyes flashed, his back bristled, and
every hair upon his tail stood out so straight that the tail looked as
thick as an old-fashioned muff. He flew straight at Rumpty-Dudget and
leaped upon his hump, and bit and scratched him soundly. Rumpty-Dudget
yelled with pain, and dropping Prince Hector, he vanished through the
hole in the hedge like a hot chestnut into a hungry boy.

But from the other side of the hedge he flung at the three children a
handful of black mud; a bit of it hit Princess Hilda on the forehead,
and another bit fell upon Prince Harold's nose, and another upon
little Prince Hector's chin. And there those three black spots stayed;
and all the washing and scrubbing in the world would not make them go
away. It is always so with the mud that Rumpty-Dudget throws; it
seems to grow down into you until it fastens a root in your heart. And
this, probably, was the reason why Princess Hilda (who had until then
been the best little girl in the world) began from that time to wish
to rule things; and Prince Harold (who had until then been one of the
two best little boys in the world) began from that time to wish to
have things; and little Prince Hector (who had until then been the
other of the two best little boys in the world) began from that time
to wish to do things which he was told not to do.

Such was the effect of Rumpty-Dudget's three mud-spots.

CHAPTER III.

THE WAYS OF THE WIND.

But, although Hilda, Harold, and Hector were no longer quite the best
children in the world, they were pretty good children as the world
goes, and if it had not been for the north wind they would have got on
together very well. But whenever that wind blew everything began to go
wrong. Hilda wanted everything her own way; Harold wanted everything
in his own pockets; and Hector wanted everything at cross-purposes.
Then, too, the spots on Hilda's forehead, on Harold's nose, and on
Hector's chin became blacker and blacker, and hotter and hotter, until
the children were ready to cry from pain and vexation. But tears could
do no more than soap and water to wash the spots away.

As soon as the wind began to blow from the south, however, the spots
began to lose their blackness, and the pricking to lessen, until at
last the children almost forgot their trouble. Yet it never altogether
disappeared; and neither Tom the Cat nor the Fairy Aunt had the power
to cure it. But Tom used to say that, un