“How did you attempt the measurement?”
“Why—why—I held her by the tail an’ swung her roun’; that’s all.”
“All! Why didn’t you stop when she yelled and you saw it hurt her?” demanded Roland, severely.
“Why—’cause.”
“Because what?”
“I—I liked ter hear it. It did sound so funny. I thought I should laugh myself sick—she was so mad!”
“Robert, go to your room. You know which it is.” Mrs. Beckwith’s voice was stern, and her small reprobate immediately prepared to obey it, but unfortunately cast one glance Beatrice-ward, and changed his mind.
“She said it was a ‘retreat’ when folks was in a scrape. I—I bet I’m in one now; so I—I’d rather go to the peace-room, Motherkin,” said the child, sweetly. “If you are willing, Mother dear.”
Mrs. Beckwith could not restrain a fleeting smile, and Roland laughed outright; but the mother’s “no” had always been “no,” with no sign of wavering about it, and she did not begin their new life with any lax discipline, much as she would have so preferred. “No, Robert. You have been cruel, and I cannot excuse you. Remain upstairs until I come to you. Now, Mr. Dolloway, please accept my sincerest apologies for this unkindness. I do not seek to lessen my little boy’s fault, but if you will trust us and leave the poor cat here, I am sure I can promise you that no such maltreatment will ever be given it again.”
“Well, ma’am, I must say you have spoke like a lady. An’ I hain’t no wish to be behind-hand in my neighborliness. But—though I hain’t no right to mention it, so bein’ ’s you’re his mother—if that there shaver ain’t born ter be hung I’m mistook.”