XVII. A Tantrum

           Shehadgotupveryearlyinthemorningandhadworkedhardinthegardenandshewastiredandsleepy,soassoonasMarthahadbroughthersupperandshehadeatenit,shewasgladtogotobed.Asshelaidherheadonthepillowshemurmuredtoherself:

           “I’llgooutbeforebreakfastandworkwithDickonandthenafterward—Ibelieve—I’llgotoseehim.”

           Shethoughtitwasthemiddleofthenightwhenshewasawakenedbysuchdreadfulsoundsthatshejumpedoutofbedinaninstant.Whatwasit—whatwasit?Thenextminuteshefeltquitesuresheknew.Doorswereopenedandshutandtherewerehurryingfeetinthecorridorsandsomeonewascryingandscreamingatthesametime,screamingandcryinginahorribleway.

           “It’sColin,”shesaid.“He’shavingoneofthosetantrumsthenursecalledhysterics.Howawfulitsounds.”

           Asshelistenedtothesobbingscreamsshedidnotwonderthatpeopleweresofrightenedthattheygavehimhisownwayineverythingratherthanhearthem.Sheputherhandsoverherearsandfeltsickandshivering.

           “Idon’tknowwhattodo.Idon’tknowwhattodo,”shekeptsaying.“Ican’tbearit.”

           Onceshewonderedifhewouldstopifshedaredgotohimandthensherememberedhowhehaddrivenheroutoftheroomandthoughtthatperhapsthesightofhermightmakehimworse.Evenwhenshepressedherhandsmoretightlyoverherearsshecouldnotkeeptheawfulsoundsout.