“You’re not to laugh at my drawing!” he shrieked.
“I’m not laughing at it. Be quiet this instant.” Rose gave him a hearty shaking, and Cecil burst into tears.
“Good gracious me, what a fuss about nothing! Miss Wade didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Rose rashly asserted.
“Cecil must learn to take a little friendly chaff good-humouredly,” said Miss Wade in a rather vicious-sounding voice. “I’ve noticed before that he’s very touchy—absurdly touchy. What will you do at school, I should like to know, Cecil? To fly out like that just because one doesn’t think everything that you do is perfect. Silly little boy!”
Cecil, who had been sobbing comparatively calmly after his mother’s brief and vigorous ministrations, was screaming, quivering, and stamping with renewed passion by the end of Miss Wade’s speech.
“I never said you might look at my picture! It isn’t fair—you’ve no right to—pig, pig—I hate you.... It isn’t badly drawn; I drew it like that on purpose. I spelt ‘Pug’ wrong on purpose.... I——”
“Cecil, you know that’s not true——”
“Oh, shut up,” cried Rose with sudden anger, turning on the governess.
“Mrs. Aviolet!”
“Well, can’t you see he doesn’t know what he’s saying?”