style="font-size:15px;"> “Been and done?” came like an angry echo from the landing above, where Mr. Brandon had arrived. But before he could say more there was a piercing shriek, he was pushed aside, and Mrs. Brandon rushed down the remaining stairs crying wildly—
“Oh, my darling boy! my darling boy! He has killed him—he has killed him!”
She dropped upon her knees by where Sam lay, apparently insensible; but uttered a cry of pain and sprang up again, for the broken china was full of awkward corners.
“Oh, James! James! look what that wicked wretch has done!”
“Look, woman! Do you think I’m blind? That vase was worth fifty pounds, if it was worth a penny.”
“I—I wasn’t thinking about the ch-ch-ch-china,” sobbed Mrs. Brandon, “but about my darling Sam. Oh, my boy! my boy! don’t say you’re dead!”
“Don’t you make an exhibition of yourself before the servants,” cried her husband angrily. “Here you, sir: I always knew that you’d make me repent. How came you to break that vase?”
“I didn’t, sir,” said Tom quietly; “Sam caught hold of it as he was falling.”
Sam was lying insensible the moment before, but this was reviving.
“I didn’t, father; he knocked me down, and then seized the vase and dashed it at me.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Mrs. Brandon, as Sam lapsed into insensibility once more. “The wretch has had a spite against his cousin ever since he has been here. Oh, my darling, darling boy!”
Sam uttered a low groan which made his mother shriek and fling herself down by him again.
“Oh, Mary! cook!” she cried, “help—help!”
“Yes, mum,” said the former; “shall I bring a dustpan and brush, and take up the bits?”
“No, no! Water—sponge—help!”
“Indeed, indeed, I did not break the vase,” pleaded Tom, as his uncle suddenly caught him by the collar and drew a gold-headed malacca cane from the umbrella-stand.
“I’ll soon see about that,” said Mr. Brandon, with a fierce drawing-in of the breath.
“Yes; beat him, beat him well, James, the wretch, the cruel wretch, and then turn him out of the house.”
“Don’t you interfere,” cried Mr. Brandon, with a snap. Then to Tom—“I suppose you’ll say you were not fighting?”
“Yes, sir, I was fighting; but Sam began at me, and all because I wouldn’t screen him to-day.”
“Hah! never mind that,” said Mr. Brandon.
“Don’t beat me, sir,” pleaded Tom, excitedly. “I can’t bear it.”
“You’ll have to bear it, my fine fellow. Here, come into the library.”
“Yes, James, beat the wretch well,” cried Mrs. Brandon. “Oh, my darling, does it hurt you very much?”
“Oh!” groaned Sam, and his mother shrieked; while a struggle was going on between Tom and his uncle, the boy resisting with all his might.
“He has killed him! he has killed him!” sobbed Mrs. Brandon; “and you stand there, cook, doing nothing.”
“Well, mum, what can I do? I’m wanted down-stairs. Them soles is a-burning in the frying-pan. You can smell ’em up here.”
“Yes; nice preparations for company,” said Mr. Brandon, stopping to pant, for Tom had seized the plinth at the foot of the balustrade and held on with all his might. “Go down in the kitchen, cook, and see to the dinner.”
The cook turned to go, but stopped short and turned back.
“Oh, my darling! my darling!” cried Mrs. Brandon.
“Oh-h-h-h!” groaned Sam.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said cook, speaking very loudly, “but please you ain’t going to whip Mr. Tom, are you?”
“Silence, woman! Go down to your kitchen!” roared her master.
“Yes, sir—directly, sir; but Mr. Sam’s allus at him, and he begun it to-night, for I heared him.”
“Will you go down and mind your own business, woman?”
“Yes, sir; but I can’t bear to see you lay your hand on that poor boy, as ain’t done nothing to deserve it, and I will speak out, so there.”
“Silence, woman!”
“No, sir, nor I won’t silence neither; and don’t you please call me woman, because I won’t take it from nobody, not for no wages. I behaves respectful to you and missus, and expect the same, so there.”
“Cook, you leave at a month’s end,” cried Mrs. Brandon. “Oh, Sam, Sam, speak to your broken-hearted mother.”
“Cert’ny, mum, and very glad to go,” said cook, who was working herself up into a passion. “To-night if you like. No, I won’t; I’ll go now, as soon as I’ve packed my boxes; and if Mary’s the girl I take her for, she’ll go too, and not stand here sweeping up your nasty old china.”
“Am I to take you by the shoulders, woman, and bundle you down-stairs?” roared Mr. Brandon.
“No, sir, you ain’t. Just you dare to touch me, that’s all; and what’s more, you ain’t a-going to beat Master Tom, so there now. I wouldn’t stand here and see him punished for what he don’t deserve. It’s all that Mr. Sam, who’s ma’s spoilt him, and indulged him, till he’s grown into a nasty, overbearing, cigarette-smoking wretch, as treats servants as if they was the dirt under his feet.”
“Fanny,” cried the lawyer, who felt that he was losing dignity in an unequal struggle, “send this woman down-stairs. Now, sir, you let go of that balustrade and come here.”
“No,” cried Tom, between his teeth; “you shan’t beat me for nothing. It was all Sam.”
“Come here!” roared his uncle, making a savage drag at the boy, which was intercepted by cook forcing herself between, and trying to shelter him.
“You shan’t beat him, not while I’m here,” she cried.
“He is not going to beat him,” said a quiet, firm, grave voice; and all started to see that “the company,” who had been standing quite unobserved on the upper landing, a silent spectator of the scene, was now coming down.
“Oh, Richard!” cried Mrs. Brandon; “look here! The wretch—the wretch!”
“Yes, he does look a pretty object certainly,” said the visitor. “Here you, sir, get up and go to your room, and wash yourself. Don’t lie groaning there.”
“Oh—oh—oh!”
