saucy besides. David could not go. David must
sit still on that chair and must not get up.

"I don't like you," the child called out.

Then, as soon as the door was shut upon him, he became a very
angry little boy. He pounced from his seat and began to walk
heavily up and down the room. He stamped his feet; he shut his
teeth together and he kicked the chair where he had been sitting.
He had not been fairly dealt with, and now, as Mitch Horrigan
would say, he was going to be just as rotten bad as ever he
could.

But it was useless to stamp so loud and clench his fists. There
was no one to hear him and there was no one to see him. Neither
was there any satisfaction in knocking over a chair. The outlook
was utterly hopeless. There didn't seem to be any good way of
being bad.

Presently, though, David had an inspiration. He would get hold of
the picture the Doctor had talked about so foolishly. David would
get it and have a look at it. Surely that would be very naughty
indeed. David was confident of that, for the Doctor had been so
extremely nice in handling the little miniature.

Only there was one great difficulty which stood in the way of
this famous campaign of badness. David encountered this
difficulty when he had dragged a chair in front of the high desk.
Even by standing on the chair he was not tall enough to reach the
picture; even by standing tippy-toe he could not reach it. There
was left but the one alternative--he must jump for it, but when
he did that he knocked it off. It fell with a loud clack to the
floor and broke in two.

Then terror seized the heart of David. He did not mean to break
the lady; honestly he did not, and now--oh, oh!--what was to
be done? The little boy did not have much time to think about it.
He heard a heavy tread on the stairs and knew the Doctor was
coming.

Perhaps it would do to say that the picture had fallen off itself
and got broken, or maybe it would be better to say that the
fairies had done it, or maybe--

Now, at last, David knew the thing to do, and did it. When the
Doctor came into the room the little boy was sweetly but not
serenely in his place. He was sitting upright in his chair, as
though he had not stirred a hair's breadth during the man's
absence, but in the eyes of David was a feverish lustre, and the
little body of him was all of a tremble.

"I didn't understand about the crying," Dr. Redfield announced,
and he was very humble. It did not seem odd to