joint, I expect."

"Master Colin, don't," said Martha, warningly, but it was too late.
Rosy dashed off her seat, and running round to Colin's side of the
table, doubled up her little fist, and hit her brother hard with all
her baby force, then, without waiting to see if she had hurt him or
not, she rushed from the room without speaking, made straight for her
own little bedroom, and, throwing herself down on the floor with her
head on a chair, burst into a storm of miserable, angry crying.

"I wish I was back with auntie--oh, I do, I do," she said, among her
sobs. "Mamma doesn't love me like Colin and Pixie. If she did, she
wouldn't go and bring a nasty, horrible little girl to live with us. I
hate her, and I shall always hate her--_nasty_ little thing!"

The nursery was quiet after Rosy left it--quiet but sad.

"Dear, dear," said Martha, "if people would but think what they're
doing when they spoil children! Poor Miss Rosy, but she is naughty!
Has it hurt you, Master Colin?"

"No," said Colin, _one_ of whose eyes nevertheless was crying
from Rosy's blow, "not much. But it's so _horrid_, going on like
this."

"Of course it is, and _why_ you can go on teasing your sister,
knowing her as you do, I can't conceive," said Martha. "If it was only
for peace sake, I'd let her alone, I would, if I was you, Master
Colin."