is　for　your　impudence　in　answering　mama　awhile　since；”　said　he；　“and　for　your　sneaking　way　of　getting　behind　curtains；　and　for　the　look　you　had　in　your　eyes　two　minutes　since；　you　rat！”

Accustomed　to　John　Reed’s　abuse；　I　never　had　an　idea　of　replying　to　it；　my　care　was　how　to　endure　the　blow　which　would　certainly　follow　the　insult。

“What　were　you　doing　behind　the　curtain？”　he　asked。

“I　was　reading。”

“Show　the　book。”

I　returned　to　the　window　and　fetched　it　thence。

“You　have　no　business　to　take　our　books；　you　are　a　dependent；　mama　says；　you　have　no　money；　your　father　left　you　none；　you　ought　to　beg；　and　not　to　live　here　with　gentlemen’s　children　like　us；　and　eat　the　same　meals　we　do；　and　wear　clothes　at　our　mama’s　expense。　Now；　I’ll　teach　you　to　rummage　my　bookshelves：　for　they　are　mine；　all　the　house　belongs　to　me；　or　will　do　in　a　few　years。　Go　and　stand　by　the　door；　out　of　the　way　of　the　mirror　and　the　windows。”

I　did　so；　not　at　first　aware　what　was　his　intention；　but　when　I　saw　him　lift　and　poise　the　book　and　stand　in　act　to　hurl　it；　I　instinctively　started　aside　with　a　cry　of　alarm：　not　soon　enough；　however；　the　volume　was　flung；　it　hit　me；　and　I　fell；　striking　my　head　against　the　door　and　cutting　it。　The　cut　bled；　the　pain　was　sharp：　my　terror　had　passed　its　climax；　other　feelings　succeeded。

“Wicked　and　cruel　boy！”　I　said。　“You　are　like　a　murderer—you　are　like　a　slave…driver—you　are　like　the　Roman　emperors！”

I