"No, dear," replied the other, faintly, but as cool as a marble slab;
"you go; cast some of your oil upon those ever-troubled waters and
then come back and let us try once more."

Miss Fountain heard but half this sentence; she was already gliding up
the stairs. She opened the nursery door, and there stood in the middle
of the room "Original Sin." Its name after the flesh was Master
Reginald. It was half-past six, had been baptized in church, after
which every child becomes, according to polemic divines of the day, "a
little soul of Christian fire" until it goes to a public school. And
there it straddled, two scarlet cheeks puffed out with rage, soft
flaxen hair streaming, cerulean eyes glowing, the poker grasped in two
chubby fists. It had poked a window in vague ire, and now threatened
two females with extinction if they riled it any more.

The two grown-up women were discovered, erect, but flat, in distant
corners, avoiding the bayonet and trusting to their artillery.

"Wicked boy!"
"Naughty boy!" (grape.)
"Little ruffian!" etc.

And hints as to the ultimate destination of so. sanguinary a soul
(round shot).

"Ah! here's miss. Oh, miss, we are so glad you are come up; don't go
anigh him, miss; he is a tiger."

Miss Fountain smiled, and went gracefully on one knee beside him. This