e that was hardly fit for her ears to hear. She stood
before him with round, frightened eyes and quivering lips, her little
figure upright and still, until she could bear it no longer; and then
she turned and fled from him through the garden door out upon the smooth
grassy lawn, where she flung herself down face foremost close to her
favorite beech tree, there giving way to a burst of passionate tears.

"I didn't mean it--oh! I didn't mean to break it," she sobbed aloud.
"Uncle Edward is a fearful angry man; he doesn't love me a bit. I wish I
had a father! I want a father like the probable son; he wouldn't be so
angry!"

And when later on nurse came, with an anxious face, to fetch her little
charge in from the cold, wet grass, she had not the heart to scold her,
for the tear-stained face was raised so pitifully to hers with the
words,--

"Oh, nurse, dear, carry me in your arms. No one loves me here. I've been
telling God all about it. He's the only One that isn't angry."

That evening, at the accustomed time, Milly stole quietly into the
dining-room, wondering in her little heart whether her uncle was still
angry with her.

As she climbed into her chair, now placed on the opposite side of the
large table, she eyed him doubtfully through her long eyelashes; then
gathering courage from the immovable expression of his face, she said in
her most cheerful tone,--

"It's a very fine night, uncle."

"Is it?" responded Sir Edward, who was accustomed by this time to some
such remark when his little niece wanted to attract his notice. Then
feeling really ashamed of his outburst a few hours before, he said, by
way of excusing himself,--"Look here, Millicent, you made me exceedingly
angry by your piece of mischief this afternoon. That statue can never be
replaced, and you have destroyed one of my most valuable possessions.
Let it be a warning for the future. If ever you break anything again, I
shall punish you most severely. Do you understand?"

"Yes, uncle," she answered, looking up earnestly. "'You will punish me
_most_ severely.' I will remember. I have been wondering why I broke it,
when I didn't mean to do it. Nurse says it was a most 'unfortunate
accident.' I asked her what an accident was. She says it's a thing that
happens when you don't expect it--a surprise, she called it. I'm sure
it was a dreadful surprise to me, and to Fritz, too; but I'll never play
ball in the hall again, _never_!"

A week later, and Sir E