CHAPTER III.

THE FIRST PUNISHMENT.

Slowly but surely little Milly was advancing in her uncle’s favor.  Her extreme docility and great fearlessness, added to her quaintness of speech and action, attracted him greatly.  He became interested in watching her little figure as it flitted to and fro, and the sunny laugh and bright childish voice about the house were no longer an annoyance to him.

One day he was moved to anger by an accident that happened to a small statue in the hall and Milly was the delinquent.  Her ball had rolled behind it, and both she and the dog were having a romp to get it, when in the scuffle the statue came to the ground and lay there in a thousand pieces.  Hearing the crash, Sir Edward came out of his study, and completely losing his temper, he turned furiously upon the child, giving vent to language 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?”