Cyril's eyes dilated, then filled with tears as he seemed to see the little sister he loved so dearly lying before him white and cold and dead.
"I won't ever, ever do it again," he said tremulously.
"No, you must be Fan's big brave brother that she can trust to take care of her and shield her from harm. I don't believe my Cyril would be such a mean coward as to hurt a little girl or anything smaller or weaker than himself, except for that naughty 'didn't think!'"
"But I didn't hurt her, mother."
"Yes, my son, you hurt her feelings very much."
He considered a moment. "Yes, I s'pose that's so," he said slowly, "Fan, I'll tell you; I'm real sorry; and you may be jailor now and lock me up in that wardrobe."
"No, no! there must be no more such doings," quickly interposed mamma.
"Dess I wouldn't do such sing!" said Fan, wiping away her tears with her chubby little hand.
"What a room!" said Mildred, shutting the last bureau drawer and turning to look about her; "every chair out of place and turned on its side, the bed all tumbled and bits of paper scattered over the carpet."