“Oh, Arnold, don’t scold him,” implored Mrs. Knox, following them in with her hands held up. “It was naughty of him, of course, and it gave me a dreadful fright; but it was perhaps excusable, and he is safe at home again. The captain was to bring the top, and did not, and poor Dicky ran after him to get it.”
“You be quiet, Arnold; I am not to be scolded,” put in cunning Dicky. “You just give me my top.”
“As to scolding you, I don’t know that it would be of any further use: the time seems to have gone by for it, and I must take other measures,” spoke Dr. Knox. “Come up to bed now, sir. I shall see you in it before I leave.”
“But I want my top.”
“Which you will not have,” said the doctor: and he marched off Dicky.
“How cross you are with him, Arnold!” spoke his step-mother when the doctor came down again, leaving Dicky howling on his pillow for the top.
“It needs some one to be cross with him,” observed Dr. Knox.
“He is only a little boy, remember.”
“He is big enough and old enough to be checked and corrected—if it ever is to be done at all. I will see you to-morrow: I wish to have some conversation with you.”
“About Dicky?” she hastily asked.