But Archibald had hardly reached the Park before he was brought home, resisting with all his strength, because he had given his shoes and stockings away; and the next ten minutes, while Gabriella gently reasoned with him on the pavement, were pregnant with consequences.

“He’s fierce, that’s what he is,” declared the nurse, who was Irish and militant.  “He kicked me so I’m black and blue, ma’am, all over the shins, and every bit because I wouldn’t let him pull off his shoes and socks and give ’em to a barefooted boy in the Park.  You tell her, darlin’”—­to Frances, who stood, bright-eyed and indignant, in her white fur coat and little fur cap which she wore drawn down tight over her curls—­“you tell your mamma, darlin’, you tell her how fierce and bold he was, and how he kicked me about the shins because I wouldn’t let him take off his shoes and socks.”

“The poor boy wanted ’em!  I won’t wear ’em!  I will give ’em to the poor boy!” screamed Archibald, furious, scowling, struggling in the restraining hold of his nurse.  He was a robust, thick-set child of four years, with a thatch of dark-brown hair, and strange near-sighted brown eyes, behind spectacles which he had worn from the time he could walk.

“What is it, Archibald?  Tell me about it.  Tell mother,” pleaded Gabriella while he struggled desperately to escape from her tender grasp.  “Who was the poor boy and where did you see him?”

“He oughtn’t to have been in the Park, ought he, mamma?” inquired Frances, who was guiltless of democratic tendencies.  “Ragged people have no right to be in the Park, have they?”

“Hush, darling, I want to hear what Archibald has to say.  Tell me about him, Archibald.  Shall you and I go out to look for him?”

“If you do, he’ll pull his shoes and socks right off again,” insisted Frances emphatically.  “He had got one quite off and had given it to the boy before we saw him, and Nanny was obliged to go and take it back, and I had to hold Archibald while she put it on him.  He screamed very loud and everybody stopped to ask what was the matter, and one old gentleman with a long beard, like Moses in the Bible, gave Archibald a little box of candy—­he took it out of his pocket—­but Archibald threw it away, and kept on hollerin’ louder than ever—­”

“That’s right, darlin’, you tell her,” urged nurse, a stout woman with a red face and three gold teeth in the front of her mouth.

“I understand now.  Don’t tell any more, Fanny,” said Gabriella.  “Now, Archibald dear, will you stop crying and be good?”

“Am,” replied Archibald sullenly, twisting out of her hands.

“Am what, darling?”

“Am good.”

“Well, will you stop crying?”

“Have.”

“Then what do you want?  Shall we go back and look for the poor boy?”

“Hadn’t any shoes.  Feet were red.  Wanted to give him shoes, ’cause I had plenty more at home.  Nanny jerked him back.  Hated Nanny.  Hoped she would die.  Hoped bears would eat her.  Hoped tigers would eat her.  Hoped lions would eat her.  Hoped robins would cover her with leaves in the Park—­”