That Master Marsden never forgave this interference with his legitimate pleasures, and that his wrath was very grievously moved, both at Lally’s tale-bearing and Prissy’s prompt interference, may be gathered from the fact that he informed Lally she was a “nasty little tell-tale tit.” “Lally not,” lamented the child. “Yes, you are—and ‘your tongue shall be slit, and every little puppy-dog shall get a little bit,’” persisted Master Marsden, with his own tongue very far out; adding, to Priscilla, by way of appendix to this poem— “As for you, you ugly, snub-nosed, green-eyed little——” “No names, Harry,” interposed Alick, who chanced to come up at the instant; “and what have you been doing with the cat? What’s all this, I ask?” and he looked angrily round the group. “I was only going to singe her hair; it is too long, like some people’s tongues,” answered the boy, impudently. “Now look here, Harry,” said Alick; “I won’t take you to Arthur, because he would not lay a finger on you; but I’m your brother, and I’ll give you a thrashing for this you’ll perhaps remember. Teaching Leonard such tricks, too, you cruel little cur!” “Cur yourself!” retorted Harry; and in a moment he was grappling with Alick, trying to wrest the riding-whip he held out of his hand—kicking, plunging, biting even; and all the time Alick kept shaking and striking him,—Lally crying bitterly the while—till, panting and frightened, the boy shrieked out for mercy. Then the elder loosed his grasp and bade him go, saying, “Though you make such a noise I know you are not much hurt, but never let me catch you playing such tricks again, or I will hurt you next time.” “I’ll be even with you all yet,” observed Harry, gratefully, as he skulked away; and this threat, which probably had not the slightest meaning attached to it in the boy’s mind, was remembered to his disadvantage subsequently.