"I hope you feel good-natured," said his mother; "Oscar's going off seems to have had a queer effect upon you."
"I don't care, you 're all picking upon me—it's enough to make anybody cross," said Jerry, in a surly tone.
"You're mistaken—nobody has picked upon you," replied his mother.
"Yes, you have, too," responded Jerry.
"Jerry! don't let me hear any more of that—not another word," said Mr. Preston, sternly.
"Then you 'd better make Emily hold her tongue," said Jerry.
"Hush! do you hear me?" said Mr. Preston, with considerable excitement.
Jerry undertook to mutter something more, when his father jumped up, and, taking him by the collar, led him to the cellar-door, and told him to go down and stay until he was sent for. Then, shutting the door, and turning the button, he resumed his seat at the table, and the family finished their meal in silence.
Jerry was released from his confinement soon after breakfast; but the unfortunate affair at the table continued to weigh heavily upon his mind. Throughout the rest of the day, he kept out of everybody's way, and said nothing, but looked sour, cross, and wretched. Oscar, too, felt very unpleasantly. He found it hard work to amuse himself alone. He was a boy of strong social feelings, and abhorred solitary rambles and sports. It was a long and dull day, and when he retired to bed at night, he almost felt glad that it was his last day in Brookdale.
Soon after he had got into bed, Jerry, who had retired before him, called out: