“No, indeed; you can't have it. Go away, now. Don't touch!”
But Freddie was very quick in his movements, and before she could get it out of his reach he had seized it and shaken the contents all over the floor. Marty, very angry at having her beautiful box treated so roughly, and seeing the money rolling about in all directions, cried in loud tones,
“Let go, you naughty boy! You'll break it!”
Freddie, now angry also, and determined to have what he wanted, held on manfully, screaming, “Dive it to me! dive it to me!” and in the struggle a small piece was broken off the lid.
Mrs. Ashford, hearing the loud tones, hurried into the room, and arrived in time to see Marty strike Freddie with one hand while she held the box high above her head with the other. Freddie was pounding her with all his little strength and crying uproariously.
“Marty, Marty!” called Mrs. Ashford, “don't strike your little brother. What is the matter? Come here, Freddie.”
But Freddie stamped his foot and screamed, “Will have it! Will have pretty box!” and Marty wailed, “Oh! he's broken my lovely box and spilled all my money.”
It was some time before peace was fully restored, though Marty was soon very repentant for what she had done and Freddie's ill-temper never lasted very long. After standing a while with his face to the wall, as was his custom on such occasions, crying loudly, the little tempest was all over. He turned around, and putting up his hands to wipe his eyes said pitifully,
“My teeks are so wet, and I have no hamititch to dry them.”
“Come here and I'll dry them,” said his mother, taking him on her knee.