“It will indeed!” the Professor cried, with enthusiasm. “I shall come as a Grass-hopper,” my Lady calmly proceeded. “What shall _you_ come as, Professor?” The Professor smiled feebly. “I shall come as—as early as I can, my Lady!” “You mustn’t come in before the doors are opened,” said my Lady. “I ca’n’t,” said the Professor. “Excuse me a moment. As this is Lady Sylvie’s birthday, I would like to——” and he rushed away. Bruno began feeling in his pockets, looking more and more melancholy as he did so: then he put his thumb in his mouth, and considered for a minute: then he quietly left the room. He had hardly done so before the Professor was back again, quite out of breath. “Wishing you many happy returns of the day, my dear child!” he went on, addressing the smiling little girl, who had run to meet him. “Allow me to give you a birthday-present. It’s a second-hand pincushion, my dear. And it only cost fourpence-halfpenny!” “Thank you, it’s _very_ pretty!” And Sylvie rewarded the old man with a hearty kiss. “And the _pins_ they gave me for nothing!” the Professor added in high glee. “Fifteen of em, and only _one_ bent!” “I’ll make the bent one into a _hook_!” said Sylvie. “To catch Bruno with, when he runs away from his lessons!” “You ca’n’t guess what _my_ present is!” said Uggug, who had taken the butter-dish from the table, and was standing behind her, with a wicked leer on his face. “No, I ca’n’t guess,” Sylvie said without looking up. She was still examining the Professor’s pincushion. “It’s _this_!” cried the bad boy, exultingly, as he emptied the dish over her, and then, with a grin of delight at his own cleverness, looked round for applause. Sylvie coloured crimson, as she shook off the butter from her frock: but she kept her lips tight shut, and walked away to the window, where she stood looking out and trying to recover her temper. Uggug’s triumph was a very short one: the Sub-Warden had returned, just in time to be a witness of his dear child’s playfulness, and in another moment a skilfully-applied box on the ear had changed the grin of delight into a howl of pain. “My darling!” cried his mother, enfolding him in her fat arms. “Did they box his ears for nothing? A precious pet!” “It’s not for _nothing_!” growled the angry father. “Are you aware, Madam, that _I_ pay the house-bills, out of a fixed annual sum? The loss of all that wasted butter falls on _me_! Do you hear, Madam!” “Hold your tongue, Sir!” My Lady spoke very quietly—almost in a whisper. But there was something in her _look_ which silenced him. “Don’t you see it was only a _joke_? And a very clever one, too! He only meant that he loved nobody _but_ her! And, instead of being pleased with the compliment, the spiteful little thing has gone away in a huff!” The Sub-Warden was a very good hand at changing a subject. He walked across to the window. “My dear,” he said, “is that a _pig_ that I see down below, rooting about among your flower-beds?”