Fidelia met her angry gaze unflinchingly for an instant, and then, with a contemptuous “pooh!” raised the pitcher and gave it a lurch forward.  It was so heavy that it turned in her hands, and instead of drenching Lloyd, its contents deluged Fanchette, who suddenly came out of the door beside Lloyd, with the thousand dollar poodle in her arms.

Poor Beauty gave an injured yelp, and Fidelia drew back and slammed the door, locking it hastily.  She knew that the maid would hurry to her mistress while he was still shivering, and that there would be an uncomfortable account to settle by and by.

Howell, who had crept up to watch the fuss, doubled himself with laughter.  It amused him even more than it had Fidelia that he had escaped the water, and Lloyd had caught it in his stead.  Lloyd swept past him without a word, and ran to her mother’s room so angry that she could not keep the tears back while telling her grievance.

“See what that horrid Sattawhite girl has done!” she cried, holding out her limp wet skirts, and streaked sash, with an expression of disgust.  I just despise her!”

“It was an accident, was it not?” asked Mrs. Sherman.

“Oh, she didn’t know she was throwing the watah on me, when she pitched it out, but she was glad that it happened to hit me.  She didn’t even say ‘excuse me,’ let alone say that she was sorry.  And she laughed and held on to her sides, and laughed again, and said, ‘oh, what a joke,’ and that it was the funniest thing that she evah saw.  I think her mothah ought to know what bad mannahs she’s got.  Somebody ought to tell her.  I told Fidelia what I thought of her, and I’ll nevah speak to her again!  So there!”

Mrs. Sherman listened sympathetically to her tale of woe, but as she unbuttoned the wet dress, and Lloyd still stormed on, she sighed as if to herself, “Poor Fidelia!”

“Why, mothah,” said Lloyd, in an aggrieved tone, “I didn’t s’pose that you’d take her part against me.”

“Stop and think a minute, little daughter,” said Mrs. Sherman, opening her trunk to take out another white dress.  Lloyd was working herself up into a white heat.  “Put yourself in Fidelia’s place, and think how she has always been left to the care of servants, or of a governess who neglected her.  Think how much help you have had in trying to control your temper, and how little you have had to provoke it.  Suppose you had Howell and Henderson always tagging after you to tease and annoy you, and that I had always been too busy with my own affairs to take any interest in you, except to punish you when I was exasperated by the tales that you told of each other.  Wouldn’t that have made a difference in your manners?”

“Y-yes,” acknowledged Lloyd, slowly.  Then, after a moment’s silence, she broke out again.  “I might have forgiven her if only she hadn’t laughed at me.  Whenevah I think of that I want to shake her.  If I live to be a hundred yeahs old, I can nevah think of Fidelia Sattawhite, without remembahin’ the mean little way she laughed!”