for the pathetic expression of her sweet face, as she lisped slowly:
"Very well. P'rhaps some day Tilderee'll go away and never come back
again!"

She turned and went into the house, with Fudge at her heels. As he
passed Joan his tail, which had drooped in shame at his conduct,
erected itself defiantly, and he uttered a growl of protest.

Joan remained disconsolately hugging and weeping over the ill-fated
Angelina. But, somehow, she did not feel any better for having yielded
to her anger. "Tilderee deserved a good scolding," she said to herself
over and over again. Still there was a weight upon her heart, not
caused by the ruin of the doll; for, notwithstanding all the excuses
she could muster, her conscience reproached her for those unkind,
bitter words. After a while, remembering that she had been cautioned
not to let Tilderee out of her sight, she started to look for her. The
culprit was soon discovered in the corner of the kitchen cupboard,
which she called-her "cubby-house," engaged in lecturing Fudge for
running away with Angelina.

"Never meddle with what does not belong to you!" she said, laying down
the law with her mite of a forefinger; and, to make her words more
impressive, giving him an occasional tap on the nose. He listened
dutifully, as if he were the sole transgressor; but interrupted the
homily now and then by lapping the hand of his little mistress with his
tiny red tongue, as a token of the perfect understanding between them.

When they looked up and saw Joan, both glanced at her deprecatingly,
but quite ready to assume a defensive attitude. Ashamed of having
allowed her indignation to carry her so far, she was, however, inclined