“You mustn’t come in before the doors are opened,” said my Lady.
“I can’t,” said the Professor. “Excuse me a moment. As this is Lady Sylvie’s birthday, I would like to—” and he rushed away.
Bruno began feeling in his pockets, looking more and more melancholy as he did so: then he put his thumb in his mouth, and considered for a minute: then he quietly left the room.
He had hardly done so before the Professor was back again, quite out of breath. “Wishing you many happy returns of the day, my dear child!” he went on, addressing the smiling little girl, who had run to meet him. “Allow me to give you a birthday-present. It’s a secondhand pincushion, my dear. And it only cost fourpence-halfpenny!”
“Thank you, it’s very pretty!” And Sylvie rewarded the old man with a hearty kiss.
“And the pins they gave me for nothing!” the Professor added in high glee. “Fifteen of em, and only one bent!”
“I’ll make the bent one into a hook!” said Sylvie. “To catch Bruno with, when he runs away from his lessons!”
“You can’t guess what my present is!” said Uggug, who had taken the butter-dish from the table, and was standing behind her, with a wicked leer on his face.
“No, I can’t guess,” Sylvie said without looking up. She was still examining the Professor’s pincushion.
“It’s this!” cried the bad boy, exultingly, as he emptied the dish over her, and then, with a grin of delight at his own cleverness, looked round for applause.
Sylvie coloured crimson, as she shook off the butter from her frock: but she kept her lips tight shut, and walked away to the window, where she stood looking out and trying to recover her temper.
Uggug’s triumph was a very short one: the Sub-Warden had returned, just in time to be a witness of his dear child’s playfulness, and in another moment a skilfully-applied box on the ear had changed the grin of delight into a howl of pain.
“My darling!” cried his mother, enfolding him in her fat arms. “Did they box his ears for nothing? A precious pet!”
“It’s not for nothing!” growled the angry father. “Are you aware, Madam, that I pay the house-bills, out of a fixed annual sum? The loss of all that wasted butter falls on me! Do you hear, Madam!”
“Hold your tongue, Sir!” My Lady spoke very quietly—almost in a whisper. But there was something in her look which silenced him. “Don’t you see it was only a joke? And a very clever one, too! He only meant that he loved nobody but her! And, instead of being pleased with the compliment, the spiteful little thing has gone away in a huff!”
The Sub-Warden was a very good hand at changing a subject. He walked across to the window. “My dear,” he said, “is that a pig that I see down below, rooting about among your flowerbeds?”
“A pig!” shrieked my Lady, rushing madly to the window, and almost pushing her husband out, in her anxiety to see for herself. “Whose pig is it? How did it get in? Where’s that crazy Gardener gone?”
At this moment Bruno re-entered the room, and passing Uggug (who was blubbering his loudest, in the hope of attracting notice) as if he was quite used to that sort of thing, he ran up to Sylvie and threw his arms round her. “I went to my toy-cupboard,” he said with a very sorrowful face, “to see if there were somefin fit for a present for oo! And there isn’t nuffin! They’s all broken, everyone! And I haven’t got no money left, to buy oo a birthday-present! And I can’t give oo nuffin but this!” (“This” was a very earnest hug and a kiss.)
“Oh, thank you, darling!” cried Sylvie. “I like your present best of all!” (But if so, why did she give it back so quickly?)
His Sub-Excellency turned and patted the two children on the head with his long lean hands. “Go away, dears!” he said. “There’s business to talk over.”
Sylvie and Bruno went away hand in hand: but, on reaching the door, Sylvie came back again and went up to Uggug timidly. “I don’t mind about the butter,” she said, “and I—I’m sorry he hurt you!” And she tried to shake hands with the little ruffian: but Uggug only blubbered louder, and wouldn’t make friends. Sylvie left the room with a sigh.
The Sub-Warden glared angrily at his weeping son. “Leave the room, Sirrah!” he said, as loud as he dared. His wife was still leaning out of the window, and kept repeating “I can’t see that pig! Where is it?”
“It’s moved to the right—now it’s gone a little to the left,” said the Sub-Warden: but he had his back to the window, and was making signals to the Lord Chancellor, pointing to Uggug and the door, with many a cunning nod and wink.
The Chancellor caught his meaning at last, and, crossing the room, took that interesting child by the ear—the next moment he and Uggug were out of the room, and the door shut behind them: but not before one piercing yell had rung through the room, and reached the ears of the fond mother.
“What is that hideous noise?” she fiercely asked, turning upon her startled husband.
“It’s some hyena—or other,” replied the Sub-Warden, looking vaguely up to the ceiling, as if that was where they usually were to be found. “Let us to business, my dear. Here comes the Warden.” And he picked up from the floor a wandering scrap of manuscript, on which I just caught the words “after which Election duly holden the said Sibimet and Tabikat his wife may at their pleasure assume Imperial—” before, with a guilty look, he crumpled it up in his hand.
IV
A Cunning Conspiracy
The Warden entered at this moment: and close behind him came the Lord Chancellor, a little flushed and out of breath, and adjusting his wig, which appeared to have been dragged partly off his
