But this was the first glimpse either of them had had of these.
Hitherto, craft had served Cyril's turn better than fury.
At sound of the Master's unintentional laugh the unfortunate child went quite beside himself in his transport of rage.
"I won't stay in your nasty old house!" he shrieked.

"I'm going to the very first house I can find.

And I'm going to tell 'em how you hammered a little feller that hasn't any folks here to stick up for him.

And I'll get 'em to take me in and send a tel'gram to Daddy and Mother to come save me.

I--" To the astonishment of both his hearers, Cyril broke off chokingly in his yelled tirade; caught up a bibelot from the table, hurled it with all his puny force at Lad, the innocent cause of the fracas; and then rushed from the room and from the house.
The Mistress stared after him, dumfounded; his howls and the jarring slam of the house door echoing direfully in her ears.