"Go away, Marion," he said. "I'm going to give the boy a lesson."
She pointed at the bottle.
"You had better learn yours first," she said.
"Never mind that. Archie says he's not sorry. It is my duty to teach him."
Suddenly Archie felt tremendously interested. He had no idea what all this was about, or what his father's lesson was, but he felt he was in the presence of some drama apart from his own. It was with a sense of the interruption of this that he saw his mother turn to him.
"Archie, my dear," she said. "You have vexed and grieved me very much. Supposing I had felt wicked and had burned you stylograph pen, shouldn't I be sorry for having injured you? And aren't you sorry for having burned my hearthrug? What had I done to deserve that? Hadn't I given you leave to sit in my room, and look at my treasures? Why did you hurt me?"
Immediately the whole affair wore a different aspect. Instead of anger and justice, there was the sound of love. His heart melted, and he ran to her.
"Oh mummy, I didn't mean to vex you," he cried. "I didn't think of that.
You hadn't done anything beastly to me."
He burst into tears.
"Oh, mummy, forgive me," he said. "I don't mind being whipped, at least not much; but I'm sorry; I beg your pardon. Please stop my allowance till I've paid for it."