'Yes, sir--yes, sir; but I don't know what you mean by "_na-se par_,"'
Harold said, in a frightened voice; and Arthur continued, as he
tightened his grasp on his shoulder:

'Don't you know you ought to have been my son, instead of his?'

'Yes, sir--yes, sir; I'll never do so again,' Harold stammered, too much
alarmed now to know what he was saying, or of what he was accused.

'No, you never will do it again. I hated your father, and I hate you,
and I am going to throw you over the stair railing!' Arthur said, and
seizing Harold's coat-collar, he swung him over the banister as if he
had been a feather, while the boy struggled and fought, and held onto
the rails, until help appeared in the person of Frank Tracy, who came
swiftly up the stairs, demanding the cause of what he saw.

He had been standing near the drawing-room door, and had caught the
sound of his brother's voice and Harold's as if in altercation. Excusing
himself from those around him, he hastened to the scene of action in
time to save Harold from a broken limb, if not a broken neck.

'What is it? What have you been doing?' he asked the boy, who replied,
amid his tears:

'I hain't been doing anything, only minding my business, and he came and
asked me who I was, and when I told him, he was going to chuck me over
the railing--darn him! I wish I was big; I'd lick him!'

Harold's cheeks were flushed, and the great tears glittered in his eyes,