"What?"
The boy repeated the words, but scarcely had he done so than he felt himself in a strong grasp, and was dragged out of the room and upstairs before he had time to understand what was happening. In another minute he found himself seated on the floor in his own bedroom, and heard the door closed and locked from the outside.
He was stupefied with amazement. Never had his father interfered with him before, and he immediately saw that he had made a mistake in defying his stepmother. But he was not sorry yet, though he wept and sobbed himself perfectly sick. Nobody came to condole with him, and he felt he was hardly used, especially as tea-time passed, and no tea was brought to him.
"It is all her fault," he told himself, blaming his stepmother. "Of course, father would take her part."
He wondered why Jane did not come to see him, or at any rate to speak to him, if the key was taken out of the door; and regretted he had called her a sneak.
As the evening dragged on, his angry passions cooled down, and a feeling of self-pity took their place. Over the mantlepiece hung an enlarged photograph of his mother, and as his eyes rested on it, he almost fancied the sweet face smiled on him; and he wondered if she knew how badly he wanted her, and how lonely he felt. And then, in his imagination, the smile changed to a look of reproachful sorrow, and for the first time his heart smote him for his conduct that day.
Would no one ever come to him? The long summer evening was closing in at last, and still he was left alone.
"Theodore! Theodore!"
It was his stepmother's voice outside the door, and he answered quickly, "Yes, yes; oh, let me out!"
"I cannot; your father has the key. May I go to him and say you are sorry?" she asked anxiously.