tablecloth
with a long line of golden syrup dropped from a blob she had secured on
her small finger, and Nana gave the chubby hand belonging to the finger
a good hard smack. The Kitten opened her mouth and gave vent to a yell
almost demoniacal in its volume and intensity.

Mr Ffolliot, reading the _Quarterly Review_ in dignified seclusion,
heard it in his study, was convinced that his youngest child was being
tortured by the others, and hastened hot-foot to the nursery.

Ger had his fingers in his ears. Nana, flushed and angry, stirred her
tea pretending that she didn't hear; Thirza murmured pacific and wholly
useless nothings. At her father's sudden and wholly unexpected
appearance, accompanied as it was by the swift uprising of both the
nurses, the Kitten stopped her clamorous vociferation, and with bunches
of tears still hanging on her lashes smiled radiantly at the Squire,
announcing with a wave of her sticky little hand.

"'At's fahver."

"What," Mr Ffolliot demanded angrily, "what in heaven's name has been
done to that child to make her shriek like that? What happened?"

"Miss Kitten, sir," Nana said slowly, "has not been very good at tea
this afternoon."

"But what made her shriek like that?" Mr Ffolliot continued--"a more
alarming cry I never heard."

"She smacked me," said the Kitten, glowering at Nana, "she 'urted me";
and at that moment she met Ger's eyes.

The Kitten turned very red.

"Who smacked you?" asked Mr Ffolliot unwisely.

Ger stared at the Kitten, and the Kitten wriggled in her chair.

"Say what _you_ did," muttered Ger, still holding his small sister in
compelling gaze.

Nana smiled. She had started with Grantly, and knew the family.

"Fahver," said the Kitten in her most seductive tones, "take me," and
she held out her arms.

Mr Ffolliot succumbed. He went round to his youngest daughter and
lifted her out of her high chair, only to put her down with exceeding
haste a moment later.

"The child is all over some horrible sticky substance," he cried,
irritably.

"'At was it," said the Kitten.

Mr Ffolliot fled to wash his hands and change his coat. Nana and
Thirza sat down again. Ger shook his head at his small sister. "You
_are_ a rotter," he said, sadly.

The Kitten began to cry again, but this time she cried quite softly,
and Nana, in spite of the libations of golden syrup, took her upon her
knee to comfort her.

Every evening the children went down to the hall