“If Aunt Ellen only knew, I think she would not blame me!”

And now with a shout of delight the spoiled child seized on the pretty work-box; and in another moment, winders, spools, scissors, thimble, were scattered in sad confusion over the carpet.  In vain did little Agnes try, as she picked up one after the other of her pretty things, to conceal them from the baby’s sight; if one was gone, he knew it in a moment, and worried till it was restored to him.

Finally, laying open the cover of the box, he began to pound with a little hammer, which was lying near him, upon the looking-glass inside of it; and, pleased with the noise it made, he struck harder and still harder blows.

“No, no, Lewie! please don’t!  You will break sister’s pretty looking-glass.  No!  Lewie must not!” And Agnes held his little hand.  At this the passionate child threw himself back violently on the floor, and screamed and shrieked in a paroxysm of rage; in the midst of which, the threatened punishment came upon poor little Agnes, in the shape of a sharp blow upon her cheek, from the soft, white hand of her mother, who exclaimed: 

“There! didn’t I tell you so?  It seems to be your greatest pleasure to teaze and torment that poor baby; and you know he is sick, too.  Now, miss, the next time he screams, I shall take you to the north room, and lock you up, and keep you there on bread and water all day!”

Agnes retreated to a corner, and wept silently, but very bitterly, not so much from the pain of the blow, as from a sense of injustice and harsh treatment at the hands of one who should have loved her; and the mother returned to her novel, in which she was soon as deep as ever.  At the same moment, the looking-glass in the cover of the work-box flew into fifty pieces, under the renewed blows of the hammer in Master Lewie’s hand.

The little conqueror now had free range among his sister’s hitherto carefully-guarded treasures; her bits of work, and little trinkets, tokens of affection from her kind aunt and her young cousins at Brook Farm, were ruthlessly torn in pieces, or broken and strewed over the floor.  Agnes sat in mute despair.  She knew that as long as her mother was absorbed in the novel, no sound would disturb her less powerful than Lewie’s screams, and that all else that might be going on in the room would pass unnoticed by her.  So, wiping her eyes, she sat still in the corner, watching Lewie with silent anguish, as he revelled among her precious things, as “happy as a king” in the work of destruction, and only hoping that he might not discover one secret little spot in the corner of the box where her dearest treasure was concealed.

But at length she started, and, with an exclamation of horror, and a cry like that of pain, she sprang towards her little brother, and violently wrenched something from his hand.  And now the piercing shrieks of the angry and astonished child filled the house, and brought even Old Mammy to the room, to see what was the matter with the baby.  Mammy opened the door just in time to witness the severe punishment inflicted upon little Agnes, and to receive an order to take that naughty girl to the north room, and lock her in, and leave her there till farther orders.