Perhaps for all her faults and foibles Agatha was rather to be pitied than blamed, but Helen was scarcely likely to see them in that light, and she may be pardoned for experiencing a sensation of disgust on seeing Agatha enter the school-room and calmly sweep away some chips of wood and cardboard out of which Harold, with some wire and a few rough tools, was trying to construct what he called an organ. Harold had a taste for mechanics, and was always dreaming of inventions. He did not often find such a sympathetic listener as Helen, to whom he was explaining his plans, and who was deeply interested in the description of his designs for cardboard organ-pipes and other contrivances. "I think tin would be better," she was saying gravely as Agatha walked in. "I will ask my father--" "Harold, you know that you oughtn't to make such a mess in this room. Clear it away at once." Harold, whose face had been glowing with enthusiasm, looked up and saw his sister. His whole expression altered. "I sha'n't," he said. "Sha'n't indeed! you'll have to," and Agatha raised the table-cloth whereon the litter lay, and swept Harold's treasures on to the floor. "There, now, you have spoilt those pipes, and they took me hours to make," screamed Harold, rushing at his sister and pushing her backward. "I hate you. You are a horrid disagreeable thing. I will never forgive you." "You bad, wicked boy!" cried Agatha, holding his hands; "this is the end of all those fine promises that you made last Sunday. Supposing you were to die in one of those dreadful passions, you would go to hell." "It is you who are wicked to speak like that," interposed Helen, unable to witness the scene in silence any longer. "You provoked him, you know you did." "Children, children, what is the matter?" The combatants stopped their hostilities and turned round. Mrs. Bayden, on her way upstairs, had heard the noise of the scuffle and had appeared upon the scene. "It is Harold, of course, as usual," said Agatha, recovering her self-possession at once. "He will do his silly carpentering here, and you know you have often told him he is only to do it in the barn. I was only trying to make him obedient, and he flew at me and pushed and kicked me." "Oh, Harold!" sighed Mrs. Bayden, "how could you? Fancy if you had injured your sister seriously." "It isn't true," began Harold, but his mother stopped him. "I want to hear no more. I have heard too much already. That rubbish"--pointing to the wood and cardboard on the floor--"must be given to me. Pick it up." Harold, his face dark and lowering, obeyed, and the "rubbish," tenderly placed in a wastepaper basket, was handed to his mother. "You will take care of it, won't you?" he said, with a little break in his voice. "No, Harold, I must do my duty. You must be punished for your conduct. I shall burn these things."