"How silly of Frank to keep this wood up here, when he has no stove!" thought Marion.
She took down all the contents of the shelves, dusted them, and restored them in the order which seemed to her best, and then, piling the wood in the basket, she carried it down and threw it into the kitchen wood-box. She was busy in the school-room not long afterward, when Frank came down, followed by Bram.
"Marion, have you been in my room?" he asked, in measured tones, as if determined not to speak sharply, come what might.
"Yes," answered Marion, all unconscious of the mischief she had done, and as she thought perceiving an opening for one of those moral lessons which seemed likely to be wasted by keeping. "I have put it all in nice order, and I hope you will keep it so. There can be no excuse for such disorder even in a boy. You certainly don't want a great basket of wood in your room this time of year."
"Oh!" said Frank, preserving his enforced composure. "And what have you done with this basket of wood that I didn't want, if I may venture to ask?"
"I took it down and put it in the kitchen, wood-box, where it ought to be," answered Marion. "Why should you speak so, Frank? I don't think that is very kind, after I have just taken so much pains for you."
"Then another time, I wish you would let my room alone," exclaimed Frank, his temper giving way at last. "Pains, indeed! I wish you had been a hundred miles off before you touched it. I should think any idiot would have known better."
"Frank, old boy!" said Bram, warningly.
"Well, I do," said Frank. "It is too bad! After all the pains I had taken, to go and throw away—" Frank's voice broke down, and he evidently had much to do not to burst out crying.
"Frank, my son, what is the matter?" said his mother, entering the room and looking with surprise to see Frank's emotion and Marion's face of anger. "I hope you haven't been getting in a passion again."