ugh. Why couldn't the beastly cat have held his
tongue and sat still? That, at the time would have been a
disappointment, but now Maurice wished it had happened. He sat on the
edge of his bed and savagely kicked the edge of the green Kidderminster
carpet, and hated the cat.

He hadn't meant to be cruel; he was sure he hadn't; he wouldn't have
pinched the cat's feet or squeezed its tail in the door, or pulled its
whiskers, or poured hot water on it. He felt himself ill-used, and knew
that he would feel still more so after the inevitable interview with his
father.

But that interview did not take the immediately painful form expected by
Maurice. His father did _not_ say, 'Now I will show you what it feels
like to be hurt.' Maurice had braced himself for that, and was looking
beyond it to the calm of forgiveness which should follow the storm in
which he should so unwillingly take part. No; his father was already
calm and reasonable--with a dreadful calm, a terrifying reason.

'Look here, my boy,' he said. 'This cruelty to dumb animals must be
checked--severely checked.'

'I didn't mean to be cruel,' said Maurice.

'Evil,' said Mr. Basingstoke, for such was Maurice's surname, 'is
wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart. What about your
putting the hen in the oven?'

'You know,' said Maurice, pale but determined, 'you _know_ I only wanted
to help her to get her eggs hatched quickly. It says in "Fowls for Food
and Fancy" that heat hatches eggs.'

'But she hadn't any eggs,' said Mr. Basingstoke.

'But she soon would have,' urged Maurice. 'I thought a stitch in
time----'

'That,' said his father, 'is the sort of thing that you must learn not
to think.'

'I'll try,' said Maurice, miserably hoping for the best.

'I intend that you shall,' said Mr. Basingstoke. 'This afternoon you go
to Dr. Strongitharm's for the remaining week of term. If I find any more
cruelty taking place during the holidays you will go there permanently.
You can go and get ready.'

'Oh, father, _please_ not,' was all Maurice found to say.

'I'm sorry, my boy,' said his father, much more kindly; 'it's all for
your own good, and it's as painful to me as it is to you--remember that.
The cab will be here at four. Go and put your things together, and Jane
shall pack for you.'

So the box was packed. Mabel, Maurice's kiddy sister, cried over
everything as it was put in. It was a very wet day.

'If it had been any school but old Stron