CHAPTER III.


THE FIRST PUNISHMENT.

Slowly but surely little Milly was advancing in her uncle's favor. Her
extreme docility and great fearlessness, added to her quaintness of
speech and action, attracted him greatly. He became interested in
watching her little figure as it flitted to and fro, and the sunny laugh
and bright childish voice about the house were no longer an annoyance to
him.

One day he was moved to anger by an accident that happened to a small
statue in the hall and Milly was the delinquent. Her ball had rolled
behind it, and both she and the dog were having a romp to get it, when
in the scuffle the statue came to the ground and lay there in a thousand
pieces. Hearing the crash, Sir Edward came out of his study, and
completely losing his temper, he turned furiously upon the child, giving
vent to language that was hardly fit for her ears to hear. She stood
before him with round, frightened eyes and quivering lips, her little
figure upright and still, until she could bear it no longer; and then
she turned and fled from him through the garden door out upon the smooth
grassy lawn, where she flung herself down face foremost close to her
favorite beech tree, there giving way to a burst of passionate tears.

"I didn't mean it--oh! I didn't mean to break it," she sobbed aloud.
"Uncle Edward is a fearful angry man; he doesn't love me a bit. I wish I
had a father! I want a father like the probable son; he wouldn't be so
angry!"