Oh, Merton, you didn't meddle with it?" cried Margaret. "That little
squirrel is so tame, I should be very sorry to have him teased. You
didn't tease him, did you, dear?"

Merton looked injured. "I just put my hand into his old hole, and he bit
me, nasty thing! I'll kill him, first chance I get."

"You will do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Montfort, quietly. "You will
let the squirrel alone, Merton, or I shall have to stop the climbing
altogether. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Merton. "Ow! you stop that, now!"

"Did you speak to me, sir?" inquired Mr. Montfort, politely.

"Well, he kicked my sore shin," growled Merton, glaring savagely at
Basil. Basil chuckled gleefully. Mr. Montfort looked from one to the
other.

"Kick each other as much as you like out-of-doors," he said. "Here, you
can either behave yourselves or leave the table. Take your choice." He
spoke very quietly, and went on with his letter, without another glance
at the boys; indeed, no second glance was needed, for the children
behaved remarkably well through the rest of breakfast.

That morning was a trying time for Margaret. She tried hard to remember
her uncle's parting words, as he drove away: "Let them run, these first
few days, and don't worry; above all, don't worry!"

[Illustration: "MERTON WAS TEASING CHIQUITO."]

Yes, but how could she help worrying? If it had been only running! But
these children never seemed content to stay on their feet for ten
minutes together. Now they were turning somersaults round and round the
grass-plot, till her head grew dizzy, and Cousin Sophronia screamed
from the window that they would all be dead of apoplexy in less than ten
minutes. Now they were hanging by their heels from the lower branches of
the horse-chestnut tree, daring each other to turn a somersault in the
air and so descend. Now Merton was teasing Chiquito, and getting his
finger bitten, and howling, while Basil jeered at him, and wanted to
know whether a sixty-year-old bird was likely to stand "sauce" from a
ten-year-old monkey. Now Susan D. had caught her frock on a bramble, and
torn a long, jagged rent across the front breadth, that filled Margaret
with despair. Poor Susan D.! By afternoon, Miss Sophronia had taken her
into custody, and marched her off to her own room, to stay there till
bedtime.

"The child was rebellious, my dear Margaret; positively disrespectful. A
little discipline, my love, is what that child needs. It is my duty