"See my shoes, first, mamma! Berty tied 'em up for me."
"Ida Kent, come out of that room this minute!" said Aunt Mary. "Your ma is very sick; and you'll make her worse with your noise."
"No, I won't! I'll make her better. I'm going to comb your hair, mamma. You said I might."
Mrs. Kent groaned again. "Do take her away, Mary. I shall die with this dreadful pain. If I could be quiet one hour, I think I should be better."
Aunt Mary took Ida firmly by the hand.
"I won't go! I won't!" screamed the naughty child, at the top of her voice, clinging at the same time to the bedpost.
"Go this minute, Ida," said her mother, holding her throbbing head between her hands. "And Mary, take off those new shoes. She mustn't wear them till she can behave better."
The naughty girl gave a scream of passion, and was carried out of the room by Aunt Mary, who was obliged to hold her hands to keep her from scratching anywhere she could reach.
Mamma tried to shut her ears, but no, she could hear the loud, angry screams, until Aunt Mary closed the doors in a distant chamber.
Even then, her head throbbed painfully, as she readily imagined the naughty conduct of her little girl.