“Oh, you bad boy!” she exclaimed, brushing the flowers hastily on to the floor, “how dare you put those dirty things on my new white wrapper. And there’s an earwig running over me! Go away this minute, I tell you! Lettice, Lettice, come here!” Her screams brought the maid, who succeeded in catching the earwig; but Lion had not waited to see the end of his escapade; a sudden sharp pain had stabbed his baby breast, pain, not so much at his mother’s anger, as at the thought that he had already disobeyed his father’s command. “Oh, daddy, daddy, I didn’t mean to be naughty!” he cried, and throwing himself down on the grass, he sobbed as if his heart would break. “I am going out this afternoon,” said Mrs. Beresford at lunch-time, “so you must amuse yourself in the garden.” “Mayn’t I come with you,” said Lion timidly. “Daddy said I was to take care of you while he was away.” “Nonsense!” said Mrs. Beresford sharply, as though the words stung her. “Do you think I can have you always after me? You must stay at home, and see that you don’t get into any more mischief.” It was very lonely for Lion that afternoon. Lettice slipped out as soon as her mistress had disappeared, and the servants of the house did not consider it part of their business to look after other people’s children. By-and-by it began to rain, and the little boy stood sadly counting the falling drops until a sudden thought seized him. His mother’s cloak was hanging in the hall; how wet she would get unless he took it to her! To trot out into the hall and put on his hat was the work of a moment, and seizing the cloak, he sallied forth. Far and wide the poor little fellow wandered, while the driving rain soaked him through and through; but no trace of his mother could he see, and at last he turned back to the house. Just as he reached the gate a carriage drove up, however, and he saw his mother alight, and heard her parting words, “On Thursday, then; I will be sure not to fail.” “You naughty boy, what have you been doing?” were her next words, as she espied the dripping child at the gate. “Look at my cloak, all messed and spoilt. Go upstairs at once; didn’t I tell you not to get into mischief?” Weary and heart-broken, Lion attempted no explanation, but creeping sadly up to his room, cried himself to sleep on the floor. At breakfast-time next morning Lettice rushed into her mistress’s room exclaiming, “Oh, ma’am, Master Lionel’s dying!” “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Beresford. “I daresay he has eaten something that has disagreed with him; but you can send for the doctor.” She had forgotten all about it in five minutes, but when the doctor came he insisted upon seeing her. “Your child has acute inflammation,” he said, “and his life will depend upon the nursing.” “Then you must send for a nurse,” she said coolly, though she felt an inward qualm at the thought of her husband.