It was the last week of the midsummer holidays. Mark and Dank had gone to stay for three days at Aunt Bella's, and on the second day they had been sent home. Mamma and Roddy were in the garden when they came. They were killing snails in a flower-pot by putting salt on them. The snails turned over and over on each other and spat out a green foam that covered them like soapsuds as they died. Mark's face was red and he was smiling. Even Dank looked proud of himself and happy. They called out together, "We've been sent home." Mamma looked up from her flower-pot. "What did you _do_?" she said. "We took Ponto off the chain," said Dank. "Did he get into the house?" "Of course he did," said Mark. "Like a shot. He got into Aunt Bella's bedroom, and Aunt Bella was in bed." "Oh, _Mark_!" "Uncle Edward came up just as we were getting him out. He was in an awful wax." "I'm afraid," Dank said, "I cheeked him." "What did you say?" "I told him he wasn't fit to have a dog. And he said we weren't to come again; and Mark said that was all we _had_ come for--to let Ponto loose." Mamma put another snail into the flower-pot, very gently. She was smiling and at the same time trying not to smile. "He went back," said Mark, "and raked it up again about our chasing his sheep, ages ago." "_Did_ you chase the sheep?" "No. Of course we didn't. They started to run because they saw Pidgeon coming, and Roddy ran after them till we told him not to. The mean beast said we'd made Mary's lamb die by frightening its mother. When he only gave it her because he knew it wouldn't live. _Then_ he said we'd frightened Aunt Bella." Mary stared at them, fascinated. "Oh, Mark, was Aunt Bella ill?" "Of course she wasn't. She only says she's going to be to keep you quiet." "Well," said Mamma, "she won't be frightened any more. He'll not ask you again." "We don't care. He's not a bit of good. He won't let us ride his horses or climb his trees or fish in his stinking pond." "Let Mary go there," said Dank. "_She_ likes it. She kisses Pidgeon." "I don't," she cried. "I hate Pidgeon. I hate Uncle Edward and Aunt Bella. I hate Mrs. Fisher." Mamma looked up from her flower-pot, and, suddenly, she was angry. "For shame! They're kind to _you_," she said. "You little naughty, ungrateful girl." "They're _not_ kind to Mark and Dank. That's why I hate them." She wondered why Mamma was not angry with Mark and Dank, who had let Ponto loose and frightened Aunt Bella. IV I. That year when Christmas came Papa gave her a red book with a gold holly wreath on the cover. The wreath was made out of three words: _The Children's Prize_, printed in letters that pretended to be holly sprigs. Inside the holly wreath was the number of the year, in fat gold letters: 1869.