“What do you suppose I caught him doing this time?” demanded Judith.
“I—I don’t know,” faltered Salome.
“Firing—at—a—mark—on—the—henhouse—door—with—new-laid—eggs,” said Judith with measured distinctness. “He has broken every egg that was laid to-day except three. And as for the state of that henhouse door—”
Judith paused, with an indignant gesture meant to convey that the state of the henhouse door must be left to Salome’s imagination, since the English language was not capable of depicting it.
“O Lionel Hezekiah, why will you do such things?” said Salome miserably.
“I—didn’t know it was wrong,” said Lionel Hezekiah, bursting into prompt tears. “I—I thought it would be bully fun. Seems’s if everything what’s fun ‘s wrong.”
Salome’s heart was not proof against tears, as Lionel Hezekiah very well knew. She put her arm about the sobbing culprit, and drew him to her side.
“He didn’t know it was wrong,” she said defiantly to Judith.
“He’s got to be taught, then,” was Judith’s retort. “No, you needn’t try to beg him off, Salome. He shall go right to bed without supper, and stay there till to-morrow morning.”
“Oh! not without his supper,” entreated Salome. “You—you won’t improve the child’s morals by injuring his stomach, Judith.”