“I don’t care! I’m going to play lady and pour out the tea,” replied the boy in his most dogged manner.
“I never did see such a boy in all my life,” whispered Jessie to her friend.
“Nor I,” rejoined Carrie; “my father says he’s a young hornet.”
“Oh dear! what shall I do?” sighed Jessie.
“Why don’t you sit down?” said Charlie, as he began to handle the little teapot.
“Charlie, get up!” exclaimed his sister, as she snatched the teapot from his hand.
“Don’t touch him. I’ll call my uncle; he’ll make him move,” said Jessie, moving towards the door.
She was too late; Emily’s act had roused the fiery temper of the boy. Placing his hands on each side of his chair, he leaned back, and lifting up his feet to the edge of the table, kicked it over and sent the tea-set crashing to the floor.
“Oh dear! Oh dear! He has broken my nice tea-set all to pieces!” cried Jessie, pausing, gazing on the wreck, and bursting into tears.
The crash of the falling tea-things was heard by Uncle Morris. He entered the room with a grave face. Charlie still sat on the chair, looking surly and wicked at the ruin he had wrought.