“What is there, Tommy?” said Mrs. Cluppins coaxingly. “You’ll tell me , Tommy, I know.”

“No, I won’t,” replied Master Bardell, shaking his head, and applying himself to the bottom step again.

“Drat the child!” muttered Mrs. Cluppins. “What a prowokin’ little wretch it is! Come, Tommy, tell your dear Cluppy.”

“Mother said I wasn’t to,” rejoined Master Bardell, “I’m a-goin’ to have some, I am.” Cheered by this prospect, the precocious boy applied himself to his infantile treadmill, with increased vigour.