side and tweaked a seed husk out into Philip's face, then twittered defiantly. But his sister said nothing. 
'Don't,' said Philip suddenly, 'don't break it to me; tell me straight out.' 
'Tell you what?' she said again. 
'What is it?' he said. '_I_ know how these unforetold misfortunes
happen. Some one always comes--and then it's broken to the family.' 
'_What_ is?' she asked. 
'The misfortune,' said Philip breathlessly. 'Oh, Helen, I'm not a baby. Do tell me! Have we lost our money in a burst bank? Or is the landlord going to put bailiffs into our furniture? Or are we going to be falsely accused about forgery, or being burglars?' 
All the books Philip had ever read worked together in his mind to produce these melancholy suggestions. Helen laughed, and instantly felt a stiffening withdrawal of her brother from her arm. 
'No, no, my Pippin, dear,' she made haste to say. 'Nothing horrid like that has happened.' 
'Then what is it?' he asked, with a growing impatience that felt like a wolf gnawing inside him. 
'I didn't want to tell you all in a hurry like this,' she said anxiously; 'but don't you worry, my boy of boys. It's something that makes me very happy. I hope it will you, too.' 
He swung round in the circling of her arm and looked at her with sudden ecstasy. 
'Oh, Helen, dear--I know! Some one has left you a hundred thousand pounds a year--some one you once opened a railway-carriage door for--and now I can have a pony of my very own to ride. Can't I?' 
'Yes,' said Helen slowly, 'you can have a pony; but nobody's left me anything. Look here, my Pippin,' she added, very quickly, 'don't ask any more questions. I'll tell you. When I was quite little like you I had a dear friend I used to play with all day long, and when we grew up we were friends still. He lived quite near us. And then he married some one else. And then the some one died. And now he wants me to marry him. And he's got lots of horses and a beautiful house and park,' she added. 
'And where shall I be?' he asked. 
'With me, of course, wherever I am.' 
'It won't be just us two any more, though,' said Philip, 'and you said it should be, for ever and ever.' 
'But I didn't know then, Pip, dear. He's been wanting me so long----' 
'Don't _I_ want you?' said Pip to himself. 
'And he's got a little girl that you'll like so to play with,' she went on. 'Her name's Lucy, and she's just a year younger than you. And you'll be the greatest friends with her. And you'll both have ponies to ride, and----' 
'I hate her,' cried Philip, very loud, 'and I hate him, and I hate their beastly ponies. And I hate _you_!' And with these dreadful words he flung off her arm and rushed out of the room, banging the door after him--on purpose. 
Well, she found him in the boot-cupboard, among the gaiters and 

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