"Oh, Merton, you didn't meddle with it?" cried Margaret. "That little squirrel is so tame, I should be very sorry to have him teased. You didn't tease him, did you, dear?"
Merton looked injured. "I just put my hand into his old hole, and he bit me, nasty thing! I'll kill him, first chance I get."
"You will do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Montfort, quietly. "You will let the squirrel alone, Merton, or I shall have to stop the climbing altogether. You understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Merton. "Ow! you stop that, now!"
"Did you speak to me, sir?" inquired Mr. Montfort, politely.
"Well, he kicked my sore shin," growled Merton, glaring savagely at Basil. Basil chuckled gleefully. Mr. Montfort looked from one to the other.
"Kick each other as much as you like out-of-doors," he said. "Here, you can either behave yourselves or leave the table. Take your choice." He spoke very quietly, and went on with his letter, without another glance at the boys; indeed, no second glance was needed, for the children behaved remarkably well through the rest of breakfast.
That morning was a trying time for Margaret. She tried hard to remember her uncle's parting words, as he drove away: "Let them run, these first few days, and don't worry; above all, don't worry!"
"MERTON WAS TEASING CHIQUITO."