He paused in his reflections, for he had turned down a side street, called Princess Street, and had reached home—a house in the midst of a long row of others, all exactly alike—and there at the sitting-room window were his mother and his sister Polly, watching for him. The angry cloud lifted from his countenance at the sight of the pair, and he smiled and nodded; but his mother had been quick to notice that something had gone wrong, and her first words, when her son entered the sitting-room, were:
"What is amiss, Roger? Have you been in mischief?"
"Why, mother, how sharp you are!" he exclaimed. Then he told her what had occurred, whilst she listened attentively, her face, which was pale and careworn, taking a decidedly anxious expression.
"Oh, Roger, you should not have struck your cousin!" she cried reprovingly when he had concluded his tale. "You really must try to keep your temper under better control, my dear boy."
"But, mother, it was cruel and wicked of Edgar to hit the poor dog," interposed Polly eagerly. "He had no right to throw a stone at it."
"Certainly not. Nevertheless, Roger had no right to hit Edgar. Two wrongs do not make one right."
Polly looked unconvinced. She was a pretty little girl, a year her brother's senior, with fair hair and honest grey eyes.
"I expect Aunt Janie will make a fuss," she observed, "for Edgar's sure to tell her—he's such a little tell-tale—and she always takes his part. That's so unfair. Oh, mother, I can't like Aunt Janie, I can't! I suppose she's kind—oh yes, I know she is, but sometimes I wish she wasn't, and then I shouldn't feel so bad about not liking her more."
And Polly looked down over herself and reflected that she really must be very ungrateful, seeing that she was clothed, at the present moment, in a frock which her mother had made for her from one of her aunt's cast-off gowns. "She isn't a bit like father," she proceeded; "no one would think they were brother and sister, like Roger and me. Oh, mother, if I was a rich lady and Roger had lost all his money and become quite poor, I know what I'd do!"
"Well?" said Mrs. Trent, inquiringly, amused at the little girl's earnestness. "What would you do, then?"