Mr. Dolman looked at her attentively, then he glanced at his wife, and then at the manuscript which lay on his desk.  He always hated writing his sermons, and, truth to tell, did not write at all good ones; but on this special morning his ideas seemed to come a little more rapidly than usual—­now, of course, he had lost every thought, and the sermon was ruined.  Besides, he was a kind-hearted man.  He thought Diana a very handsome little fury, and was rather amused with her than otherwise.  Had she been left alone with him, he would not have taken the least notice of her defiant words.  He would have said to himself, “She is but a baby, and if I take no notice she will soon cease to talk in this very silly manner.”

But alas! there was little doubt that Uncle William was very much afraid of Aunt Jane, and when Aunt Jane dared him to produce the birch rod, there was nothing whatever for it but to comply.  He rose and walked slowly and very unwillingly across the room.  He unlocked the door of a big cupboard in the wall, and, poking in his large, soft, flabby hand, presently produced what looked in Diana’s eyes a very terrible instrument.  It was a rod, clean, slender, and with, as she afterwards expressed it, temper all over it.  It flashed through her little mind by and by that, if she could really secure this rod, it might make a better bow even than the one which she and Apollo had hidden in the wood, but she had little time to think of any future use for the birch rod at this awful moment.  The terrible instrument in Uncle William’s flabby hand was carried across the room.  When she saw it approaching her vicinity she uttered a piercing shriek and hid herself under the table.

“Come, come; none of this nonsense!” said Mrs. Dolman.  “Punished you shall be.  You must be made to understand that you are to respect your elders.  Now, then, William, fetch that child out.”

“Diana, my dear, you are a very naughty little girl; come here,” said Mr. Dolman.

Diana would not have minded in the least defying Aunt Jane, but there was something in Uncle William’s slow tones, particularly in a sort of regret which seemed to tremble in his voice, and which Diana felt without understanding, which forced her to obey.  She scrambled slowly out, her hair tumbled over her forehead, her lower lip drooping.

“Suppose I have a little talk with her, Jane; suppose she says she is sorry and never does it again,” said Mr. Dolman.

“Oh, yes, yes, Uncle William!” said Diana, really terrified for the first time in her life.  “Yes, I’s sossy—­I’s awfu’ sossy, Aunt Jane.  It’s all wight now, Aunt Jane; Diana’s sossy.”

“You shall be a great deal more sorry before I have done with you,” said Mrs. Dolman, who had no idea of letting the culprit off.  “Now, then, William, do your duty.”

“But it’s all wight,” said Diana, gazing with puzzled eyes up into her aunt’s face.  “I’s been a bad girl, but I’s sossy; it’s all wight, I say.  Naughty wod, go ’way, naughty wod.”