Jack was restless. His cold was just bad enough not to risk going out with it, but not bad enough to subdue his spirits. Gwen lost patience at last with his constant popping in and out of her room and snapped him up.
“Ivan Graham,” she cried, “if you don’t keep out of here, I’ll make you! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of me, like a sneak, just because my lock is broken! Aren’t boys a nuisance, Jan?”
“No, but their noise is sometimes,” smiled Jan, with a warning shake of the head at Jack.
The warning came too late. Jan had never seen an exhibition of her little cousin’s temper, though she had been informed more than once that “Jack was a terror when he broke loose.” He “broke loose” now, and Jan saw the suitability of the expression, for he was like a young wildcat.
“I’m not a sneak! I’ll teach you to call me a sneak!” he shrieked, throwing himself on Gwen with such violence that she staggered halfway across the room. “I’ll show you! I’ll show you!” Apparently Jack meant that he would show his sister how he could use his fists, for he was pummeling her black and blue, and Jan’s bandaged hands prevented her going to Gwen’s rescue.
But Gwen had had sorry experience with ungoverned temper from her earliest days. She caught Jack deftly at last, pinioned his arms, and bore him—for she was a tall, strong girl—half dragging him, half carrying him, to Hummie for punishment, though he kicked and fought all the way.
“Isn’t he a cherub?” asked Gwen, returning triumphant, but short of breath.
“It’s awful!” cried Jan, who had been quite frightened during the tussle. “If some one doesn’t teach him to control that temper he may do something he’ll be sorry for all his life. And he really is a dear little fellow—so warm-hearted and generous!”
“Oh, those tornadoes are always warm-hearted and generous, if they feel pleasant,” said Gwen. “I think I like less generosity and fewer kicks. I shall be black and blue for a week. Don’t your brothers have tantrums?”
“Yes, but we always try not to stir up the quick ones, and when they get into a fit of temper we try to cool them down—we have what we call the Rescue League, you know—mamma founded it—and we pledge ourselves to rescue one another from our foes—inside ourselves, of course. It really is fun, and more like a play than anything goody-goody. Then if mamma is around when one of us gets mad, she takes that one by the hand and leads him off—sometimes it’s a her, you know—it has been me—been I—and soothes him all down and talks quietly, and we come back feeling as if we had had a bath—a bath for our minds.” Janet’s eyes had grown dim as she talked. The little plain home looked so lovely and peaceful as she recalled it!