the grim trend of mischief in those flushed by sternly composed young
faces.

"Hang her in chains over a slow fire," said one of the boys. Evidently
they had been reading English history.

"Frow her down the pigs will d'vour her, every bit 'cept the palms of her
hands," said the other boy. It was also evident that they had studied
Biblical history.

The last proposal was the one which most alarmed Octavian, since it might
be carried into effect at a moment's notice; there had been cases, he
remembered, of pigs eating babies.

"You surely wouldn't treat my poor little Olivia in that way?" he
pleaded.

"You killed our little cat," came in stern reminder from three throats.

"I'm sorry I did," said Octavian, and if there is a standard measurement
in truths Octavian's statement was assuredly a large nine.

"We shall be very sorry when we've killed Olivia," said the girl, "but we
can't be sorry till we've done it."

The inexorable child-logic rose like an unyielding rampart before
Octavian's scared pleadings. Before he could think of any fresh line of
appeal his energies were called out in another direction. Olivia had
slid off the roof and fallen with a soft, unctuous splash into a morass
of muck and decaying straw. Octavian scrambled hastily over the pigsty