chain. Childhood's tragedies are terrible tragedies, because a child
has no sense of time; a moment's dismay is eternal; a careless word
from an elder is a lasting judgment; an instant's folly is a
lifetime's mistake.

The day dragged its weary length along, and he scarcely moved from
his corner by the fire. He did not attempt conversation with anyone.
Once or twice the Jampot tried to penetrate behind that little mask
of anger and dismay.

"Come, now, things aren't so bad as all that. You be a good boy, and
go and tell your father you're sorry. . ." or "Well, then, Master
Jeremy, there'll be another time, I dare say, you can go to the the-
ayter. . ."

But she found no response. If there was one thing that she hated, it
was sulks. Here they were, sulks of the worst--and so, like many
wiser than herself, she covered up with a word a situation that she
did not understand, and left it at that.

The evening came on; the curtains were drawn. Tea arrived; still
Jeremy sat there, not speaking, not raising his eyes, a condemned
creature. Mary and Helen and Hamlet had had a wretched day. They all
sympathised with him.

The girls went to dress. Seven o'clock struck. They were taken
downstairs by Nurse, who had her evening out. Rose, the housemaid,
would sit with Master Jeremy.

Doors closed, doors opened, voices echoed, carriage-wheels were