“I wanted to see—what—made my tin frog—hop—and I broke—the spring. It won’t hop any—more,” roared the boy, and kick went his feet, trying to kick Daddy Coax’s shins because they were the nearest things to kick.
Daddy Coax began to fumble in his pocket, and as he fumbled, louder grew the roarer’s shouts; but he opened slits of eyes to see what Daddy Coax was searching for.
Out came the amber box, and out of it a crisp sugary almond.
“There, that will sweeten the fury,” said Daddy Coax, chuckling over his little joke.
The crunching of the almond softened the screams, and Daddy Coax winked at Kitty.
“Did I not tell you, honey, there was virtue in a sweet?” he said, gleefully rubbing his hands.
“I believe more in a whipping,” replied Kitty with a gleam in her eyes.
Daddy Coax now made his way to a corner of the room where stood a tiny bed. As he bent over the child lying there, murmuring “Poor little sick lamb,” his kind, foolish eyes grew brightly pitying.
“I won’t take my medicine,” said the invalid, shaking a resolute head on the pillow.