"Come here, you impudent rascal. How could you dare to do such a thing
as to touch the portfolio in my study?" he went on as he dragged me into
his room. "Oh! you are silent, eh?" and he pulled my ear.

"Yes, I WAS naughty," I said. "I don't know myself what came over me
then."

"So you don't know what came over you--you don't know, you don't know?"
he repeated as he pulled my ear harder and harder. "Will you go and put
your nose where you ought not to again--will you, will you?"

Although my ear was in great pain, I did not cry, but, on the contrary,
felt a sort of morally pleasing sensation. No sooner did he let go of my
ear than I seized his hand and covered it with tears and kisses.

"Please whip me!" I cried, sobbing. "Please hurt me the more and more,
for I am a wretched, bad, miserable boy!"

"Why, what on earth is the matter with you?" he said, giving me a slight
push from him.

"No, I will not go away!" I continued, seizing his coat. "Every one else
hates me--I know that, but do YOU listen to me and protect me, or else
send me away altogether. I cannot live with HIM. He tries to humiliate
me--he tells me to kneel before him, and wants to strike me. I can't
stand it. I'm not a baby. I can't stand it--I shall die, I shall kill
myself. HE told Grandmamma that I was naughty, and now she is ill--she
will die through me. It is all his fault. Please let me--W-why
should-he-tor-ment me?"