t?" he said saucily. And then he was so
pleased with his own wit that for a few minutes he forgot to tease,
occupying himself by eating lots of bread and butter instead, so that
tea went on peaceably.

CHAPTER V.

CARROTS IN TROUBLE.

"But bitter while they flow, are childish tears."

"Now Carrots," said Mott, when he had eaten what he considered might
possibly support him for the next two hours, "now Carrots, let's have
the paint-box. You needn't disturb yourself," he continued, for Carrots
was preparing to descend from his high chair, "I know where you keep it;
it's in your drawer, isn't it. Which is his drawer, nurse? It'll be a
good opportunity for me to see if he keeps it tidy."

"No, no, let me get it myself," cried Carrots, tumbling himself off his
chair anyhow in his eagerness. "Nurse, nurse, don't tell him which is
mine; don't let him take my paint-box, let me get it my own self."

Nurse looked at him with some surprise; it was seldom the little boy so
excited himself.

"Master Mott won't hurt your drawer, my dear," she said; "you don't mind
his having your paint-box, I'm sure. But do let him get it out himself,
if he wants, Master Maurice, there's a dear boy," she continued, for
Maurice was by this time ferreting in Floss's drawer with great gusto,
and in another moment would have been at Carrots'! But Carrots was at it
before him. He pulled it open as far as he could, for in consequence of
Mott's investigations in the upper storey, he could not easily penetrate
to his own quarters. But he knew exactly where the paint-box lay, and
managed to slip it out, without Maurice's noticing what he was doing.
His triumph was short-lived, however; before he could open the box, Mott
was after him.

"Hi, you young sneak!" he cried, "what are you after now? Give me the
box; I believe you want to take the best paints out before you lend it
to me," and he wrenched the paint-box out of his little brother's hands.

"I don't, I don't," sobbed Carrots, sitting down on the floor and crying
bitterly; "you may have all the paints, Mott, but it's my secret, oh, my
secret!"

"What are you talking about?" said Mott roughly, pulling out the lid as
he spoke. The box had been all tumbled about in the struggle, and the
paints came rattling out, the paints and the brushes, and the little
saucers, and with them came rolling down on to the floor, children, you
know what--the "fairies' sixpenny," the little bright shini