"I shall not do it," said Ruth steadily.
For answer Bertie dashed out in the hall, held aloft the mug for a moment and then flung it down over the baluster. It went crashing into a hundred bits upon the marble tiling in the hall below. Having thus spent his fury, Bertie dashed away with an impish look over his shoulder.
Ruth flew down-stairs without a word from Mademoiselle. The butler was sweeping up the broken pieces.
"Oh, Martin," said Ruth, "it is my dear little mug. Bertie got it from my room and threw it down here. Can it be mended, do you think?"
With a grim smile Martin showed the pieces.
The tears came to Ruth's eyes. "And Billy bought it for me with his own money," she said, her lips quivering at the remembrance. "Oh, Martin, please let me have one little flowery piece to keep," she said.
The man held out the dust-pan and Ruth selected a piece upon which a rose still showed entire. "I'll keep this forever," she said. "Thank you, Martin."
The man shook his head as he looked after her making her way to the upper floor. "That spoiled young un," he muttered. "I'd just like to see him get one good spanking."
Mademoiselle sat up stiff and uncompromising when Ruth returned to the nursery. "Babee," she said contemptuously, as she perceived Ruth's tears. "What is it to weep for, a leetle cheap sumpsin as zat?"
"It wasn't because I thought it was very fine," said Ruth, "but it was because Billy gave it to me. I was going to drink my milk from it at the table, but I saw it looked funny with the other things and so I kept it in my room. Bertie knew I loved it."