"That's much less than usual," he said, not too kindly. "I expect there's more waiting for me at Uncle Vivian's."
Albert was bare and giftless, for his half sovereign from Great-Uncle John meant no more to him than to me, being instantly put (or not put) into "the bank" by Uncle Simeon. He was naturally jealous, envied Robbie's wealth and luck, cursed his father's meanness in giving him nothing, reviled Uncle John for sending me the paint-box as well as the half sovereign, and to himself no corresponding extra. All this well distributed hostility he could vent on me alone. The means of his vengeance should be my solitary ewe-lamb. He waited his opportunity.
Robbie went out to dinner, invited by some friends of his uncle's. So Uncle Simeon brought a cane in to dinner, lodged it on the edge of the table, and allowed me to taste it now and then. I espied neither goose nor turkey, cakes nor ale, port nor madeira; though there was a much better pudding than usual, a suet one made in a basin with sultanas and citron peel which bore—alas!—an awful and edible likeness to the genuine popish article. After dinner Aunt Martha, who said she had a headache, retired to her bedroom to lie down, and later on Uncle Simeon went out, his big Bible under one arm and his big umbrella under the other, to expound the former to a bedridden old female Saint he visited twice a week, a second cousin of Brother Atonement Gelder's.
Albert and I were left alone together in the dining-room. It was perhaps not more than three o'clock, but it was a cold, dark day and the room was already dusk. Uncle Simeon was hardly out of the house before Albert came up to the table at which I was just settling down to begin using my treasure, snatched the box away, dipped the biggest brush into my cup of water and began roughly digging it into the pans of colour. Then he splashed water over all the pans and made great wasteful daubs on the palette.
"Don't, Albert," I pleaded, "please don't."
"I shall, I shall—ugh" (his usual grunt), "nothing will happen to me if I do. It's no good your whining, I'm going to spoil it, out of spite! because I want to! Try sneaking to father if you dare. Ha, ha, I know what you told Robert Grove about father, nasty little sneaks and liars both of you. Father's on my side now, so you won't get much by going to him; and if you did I'd bang you afterwards."
He took up the cup and poured water into the box, smearing all the colours together with the brush. The little brute was ruining my treasure before my eyes. Appeal was useless, so I made a deft attempt to snatch. For reply he struck me heavily with his fist over the ear. I screamed out half in pain, half in rage, and made another snatch. This time, throwing the box on to the ground, he struck me on the shoulder with the full force of his fist and sent me flying. I fell down, half stunned for a moment, when another voice broke into the room.
"You beast, you brute," I heard—and saw Robbie, back sooner than we expected. He slammed the door behind him, went straight across the room to Albert, and tried to seize his arm.
"Here, you leave me alone. She hit me first, when I wanted to use her filthy paint box, and the mean cat said I shouldn't, and started snatching and scratching so I had to push her away."
"Oh, you liar!" I cried.