“No, Lina, you’re mistaken,” said Clarissa, when she could get in a word.  “Come with me, and I’ll see what can be done with the room.  The boy didn’t mean to frighten any one.  I’m only afraid he was trying to hide them where they wouldn’t be found.  Let’s go and see.”

The aspect of Fred’s room was indeed alarming.  All the drawers and shelves in the different pieces of furniture were pulled out, and all were dirty and bore the marks of the creatures who had been kept in them.  On the floor lay the remains of the spiders and worms that Lina had destroyed.  The windows also were spotted with the dead bodies of insects.  Clarissa shook her head sadly.

“Call the lad to come up here,” she said.  “But do not make any more fuss about the matter.  Listen to me, Lina; we must make this all clean and nice again without letting Mrs. Stanhope know anything about it.  Do you understand?”

Lina muttered something to herself and went to call Fred. When the poor lad entered his room and saw the destruction of all his carefully preserved treasures, he turned as white as chalk, and spoke not one word.

“My dear boy,” said Clarissa very gently, “you need not be frightened, but I must tell you that you cannot use these drawers nor this desk for this purpose.  Now, we will clean them all out, but remember that no more creatures must be brought into the house.”

“Oh, my collection! my whole collection!”

“Yes, you see this is not the way to go to work to make a collection.  Don’t be unhappy.  I will see about your getting some more creatures.  But the first thing is to get this room cleaned up, and I’m sure you won’t want to give us so much trouble again.”

Fred glanced at the places where his most cherished treasures had been stored.  His rare oleander-worms and his priceless beetles all were destroyed.  The drawers all opened, the creatures all killed and spoiled.  He went down stairs again, but he could not go back to the others and have them ask him why he had been sent for.  He went out into the garden, and down to the seat under the lindens by the river.  The thought of his specimens, his precious specimens, was too much for the poor fellow.  He threw himself on the ground and poured out his sorrows in sobs and tears.

In the afternoon, when the others all ran out rejoicing in the sunshine, he hid himself in a corner of the school-room, and wrote the following letter:—­

DEAR AUNTY:—­You will cry when you read this, I am sure.  It is all done for, my entire collection; all killed with a dust-cloth, squashed, smashed, driven out of windows, and into holes, and all by a maid-servant.  As I had no boxes for them, I naturally put my specimens into the best places I could find for them.  In the writing-desk in my room were ever so many little divisions, just the very thing to put different varieties into.  When the maid came to clear up the room, she didn’t know anything