Poor little Harry! He stood forlornly in the middle of the empty room, listening to the sound of the key turning in the lock, listening to the sound of his aunt's retreating footsteps.
Then he thought of the happy Nursery where Maud and Baby had gone; he thought of his place at the head of the long dinner-table that somebody else would have this Monday, and he sat down in a heap on the floor and cried.
Presently he got up and looked about for something to do. His dinner stood on the table, and he thought he might as well eat it now, and when that was disposed of, he strolled into the bedroom, and there he spied the corner of the box that held his best frock, sticking out from under the bed.
Now was his chance! He would have his own again, his bright penny and his bestest pocket-handkerchief with lace upon it.
But the box stuck fast.
Nothing daunted, Harry wrestled with it. He pushed and pulled, under the bed and behind the bed, this way and that, till suddenly, as he pulled, the obstruction which held it gave way, the box came out with a run, and Harry toppled over backwards with a crash, and an awful sound of breaking china, and a rushing of cold water.
For a moment Harry lay there stunned, the broken toilet jug lying in shivers around him, the water soaking into him from head to foot; then, as he came to himself, his startled screams filled the room and he struggled up and sat looking round.
He was more frightened than hurt, but the sight of that broken jug terrified him more than the fall and the wetting. Wouldn't Aunt Jane whip him when she knew!
There was great tenacity in Harry's character. He gathered himself up at last, and opened the box and found his frock and its pocket and its precious contents. He looked at the frock a long time lovingly, then he replaced it, pushed back the box, set the bed straight and gave an involuntary shiver.
He was soaked from head to foot, and though it was summer weather, he felt very, very cold.