"You're a naughty, mean little boy," cried Grace, when she had made sure he was not hurt anywhere. "It would have been good enough for you if you'd drowned in the lake, and the bears had ate you up!"
Still she kissed her naughty brother, and it was to be noticed that her eyelids were very red from crying.
"I'll never let go your hand again, Horace," said she, "till we get to grandma's. You're just as slippery!"
Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an immense relief to him if Miss Grace would keep her word; he thought he was undergoing a great trial with Horace.
"It's a shame," said he to himself, "that a perfect lady, like Mrs. Clifford, should have such a son! I'd enjoy whipping him—for her sake! Why in the world don't she train him?"
Mr. Lazelle did not know of the faithful talk Mrs. Clifford had with Horace that night, nor how the boy's heart swelled with grief, and love, and new resolutions.
This adventure caused a day's delay, for it made the party too late for the boat. Horace was so sorry for his foolish conduct, that he spent the next day in the most subdued manner, and walked about the chamber on tiptoe, while Grace tried to sooth little Katie.
But, in crossing the lake, he "forgot" again. His mother allowed him to go up on the hurricane deck with Mr. Lazelle, just for ten minutes; and there he became acquainted with the pilot, who was struck with his intelligence, and freely answered all the questions he asked about the engine, "the whistle," and the steering.
"O, pshaw!" said Horace; "I'll make a steam-boat myself, and give it to Grace for a present!"
Full of this new plan, he left the pilot without so much as a "thank you," running down the steps, two at a time, unobserved by Mr. Lazelle, who was playing the flute. He wanted to see how the "rigging" was made, and stopped to ask leave of nobody.