"You'd better not," I threatened.

Just then we were called in to dinner. I hid the hatchet, and Philip
said no more; but he got out before me, and when I returned to work I
found that the moss-house walls, which had cost me so much labour,
were pulled to pieces and scattered about the shrubbery. Philip was
not to be seen.

My heart had been so set upon my project that at first I could only
feel the overwhelming disappointment. I was not a child who often
cried, but I burst into tears.

I was sobbing my hardest when Philip sprang upon me in triumph, and
laughing at my distress.

"I kept my promise," said he, tossing his head, "and I'll go on doing
it."

I am sure those shocks of fury which seize one like a fit must be a
devil possessing one. In an instant my eyes were as dry as the desert
in a hot wind, and my head reeling with passion. I ran to the
hatchet, and came back brandishing it.

"If you touch one stake or bit of moss of mine again," said I, "I'll
throw my hatchet at your head. I can keep promises too."

My intention was only to frighten him. I relied on his not daring to
brave such a threat; unhappily he relied on my not daring to carry it
out. He took up some of my moss and threw it at me by way of reply.