"It's Sunday, and if she screams much louder, they'll hear in the drawing-room."
"It's a proper Sunday game, and I don't care for anybody in the drawing-room!"
When Jack was defiant, Jill knew it was a hopeless case.
She sat on the back of a cane chair, her feet beating a tattoo on its seat; and a twinkle of amusement succeeded the marked disapproval in her big blue eyes when Jack proceeded to stuff his victim's head into a pillow-case.
Six-year-old Winnie, or Bumps, as she was called, was always a ready subject for her brother's ingenious mischief. She worshipped the ground he trod upon, and would promise to be all that he desired, until the experience of it proved too much for her endurance. She was at present gagged and bound with bedroom towels, antimacassars, and pocket-handkerchiefs combined. She had been rolled over and over on the floor, with Jack on the top of her, and now he announced in an offhand tone—
"She's going to be put into a sack and thrown into the river, and that will be the end of an early Christian."
"Where's the river?" asked Jill with interest.
"The bath-room, of course. Go and fill the bath."
Jill laughed, and started up to obey. The fun of such a prospect before her overcame her scruples. But in her haste she overbalanced herself, and came with a crash to the floor. Her screams united with Winnie's brought two people to the nursery, and the first one to open the door was a young man.
"Good gracious!" he ejaculated, "what a scene!"