as she presently supposed, a dropped pin-cushion, but the living
hand of a suffering child. When she became aware that she really
had hurt him, she grew very angry indeed. When people have hurt
other people by accident, the one who does the hurting is always
much the angriest. I wonder why.

'I'm very sorry, I'm sure,' said Mrs Biddle; but she spoke more in
anger than in sorrow. 'Come out! whatever do you mean by creeping
about under the stalls, like earwigs?'

'We were looking at the things in the corner.'

'Such nasty, prying ways,' said Mrs Biddle, 'will never make you
successful in life. There's nothing there but packing and dust.'

'Oh, isn't there!' said Jane. 'That's all you know.'

'Little girl, don't be rude,' said Mrs Biddle, flushing violet.

'She doesn't mean to be; but there ARE some nice things there, all
the same,' said Cyril; who suddenly felt how impossible it was to
inform the listening crowd that all the treasures piled on the
carpet were mother's contributions to the bazaar. No one would
believe it; and if they did, and wrote to thank mother, she would
think--well, goodness only knew what she would think. The other
three children felt the same.

'I should like to see them,' said a very nice lady, whose friends
had disappointed her, and who hoped that these might be belated
contributions to her poorly furnished stall.