"It has."
"Which side is it, mamma, the inside or the outside?"
Here Herbert's mother, entirely out of patience, looked into the fire.
"Mamma," said Herbert, presently, "you keep me in the house when I'm naughty, don't you?"
"Yes."
"And when I'm good you don't let me go out. Now what's the use in being good?"
"Sometimes you get a piece of cake for it."
"I forgot all about that, mamma. Now I'm going to be good all the time; then, I suppose, I can live on cake."
"That would make you sick."
"Then it would be as bad as playing in the rain. No, it wouldn't, either; it would be a great deal better. Can I have a piece of cake now, mamma?"