The child, hearing its mother’s voice, broke out into a paroxysm of sobbing.

“It’s nothing, Annie⁠ ⁠… it’s nothing.⁠ ⁠… He began to cry⁠ ⁠…”

She flung her parcels on the floor and snatched the child from him.

“What have you done to him?” she cried, glaring into his face.

Little Chandler sustained for one moment the gaze of her eyes and his heart closed together as he met the hatred in them. He began to stammer:

“It’s nothing.⁠ ⁠… He⁠ ⁠… he began to cry.⁠ ⁠… I couldn’t⁠ ⁠… I didn’t do anything.⁠ ⁠… What?”

Giving no heed to him she began to walk up and down the room, clasping the child tightly in her arms and murmuring: