“Too bad!” said the doctor, shaking his head and pursing his lips.

“No change, Sidney?” Mary asked gravely.

“No.  No, I think the little fellow is rather gratified by the stir he’s making.  He—­oh, Lord knows what he thinks!”

“Give him a good licking,” suggested the doctor.

“Oh, I’d lick him fast enough, Bill, if that would bring him round!” his father said, scowling.  “But suppose I do, and it leaves things just where they are now?  That’s all I can do, and he knows it.  His mother has talked to him; I’ve talked to him.”  He looked frowningly at the seam of his glove.  “Well, I mustn’t bother you.  He’s a Carolan, I suppose—­that’s all!”

“And you’re a Carolan,” said the doctor.

“And I’m a Carolan,” assented the other, briefly.

Mary found Jean, serious and composed over her sewing, on the cool north veranda.  When they had talked awhile, they went up to see Peter, who was sprawled on the floor, busy with hundreds of leaden soldiers.  He was no longer gay; there was rather a strained look about his beautiful babyish eyes.  But at Jean’s one allusion to the unhappy affair, he flushed and said with nervous decision: 

“Please don’t, mother!  You know I am sorry; you know I just can’t!”

“He has all his books and toys?” said Mary when they went downstairs again.

“Oh, yes!  Sidney doesn’t want him to be sick.  He’s just to be shut up on bread and milk until he gives in.  I must say, I think Sid is very gentle,” said Jean, leaning back wearily in her chair, with closed eyes.  Her voice dropped perceptibly as she added, “But he says he is going to thrash him to-morrow.”

“I think he ought to,” said Mary Moore, sturdily.  “This isn’t excitement or showing off any more; it’s sheer naughty obstinacy over a perfectly simple demand!”

“Oh, but I couldn’t bear it!” whispered Jean, with a shudder.  A moment later she added sensibly, “But he’s right, of course; Sidney always is.”

Peter was duly whipped the next day.  It was no light punishment that Sidney gave his son.  Jean’s gold-mounted riding-crop had never seen severer service.  The maids, with paling cheeks, gathered together in the kitchen when Sidney went slowly upstairs with the whip in his hand; and Betta and her mistress, their hands over their ears, endured a very agony while the little boy’s cries rang through the house.  Sidney went for a long and lonely walk afterward, and later Jean went to her son.

Mrs. Moore heard of this event from her husband, who stopped at the Hall late that evening, and found Peter asleep, and Jean restless and headachy.  He spent a long and almost silent hour pacing the rose terrace with Sidney in the cool dark.  Late into the night the doctor and his wife lay wakeful, discussing affairs at the Hall.

After some hesitation, Mrs. Moore went the next day to find Jean.  There was no sound as she approached the house, and she stepped timidly into the big hall, listening for voices.  Presently she went softly to the dining-room, and stood in the doorway.  The room was empty.  But Mary’s heart rose with a throb of thanksgiving.  Peter’s silver mug was in its place on the sideboard.  She went swiftly to the pantry where Julia was cleaning the silver.