At last Miss Jones, her face red and her hair in disorder, rescued her property and returned to the table, Hamlet meanwhile wagging his tail, panting and watching for a further game.
“I can't possibly,” said Miss Jones, “allow that dog in here during lesson hours. It's impossible.”
“Oh, but Miss Jones—” began Jeremy.
“Not one word,” said she, “let us have no more of this. Lead him from the room, Jeremy!”
“But, Miss Jones, he must be here. He's learning too. In a day or two he'll be as good as anything, really he will. He's so intelligent. He really thought it was his to play with, and he did give it up, didn't he, as soon as I said—”
“Enough,” said Miss Jones, “I will listen to no more. I say he is not to remain—”
“But if I promise—” said Jeremy.
Then Miss Jones made a bad mistake. Wearied of the argument, wishing to continue the lesson, and hoping perhaps to please her tormentors, she said meekly:
“Well, if he really is good, perhaps—”
From that instant her doom was sealed. The children exchanged a glance of realisation. Jeremy smiled. The lesson was continued. What possessed Jeremy now? What possesses any child, naturally perhaps, of a kindly and even sentimental nature at the sight of something helpless and in its power? Is there any cruelty in after life like the cruelty of a small boy, and is there anything more powerful, more unreasoning, and more malicious than the calculating tortures that small children devise for those weaker than themselves? Jeremy was possessed with a new power.