“Do your lessons this instant, you young cub!” thundered the Vice-Warden. “And take _this_!” and a resounding box on the ear made the unfortunate Professor reel across the room.
“Save me!” faltered the poor old man, as he sank, half-fainting, at my Lady’s feet.
“Shave you? Of course I will!” my Lady replied, as she lifted him into a chair, and pinned an anti-macassar round his neck. “Where’s the razor?”
The Vice-Warden meanwhile had got hold of Uggug, and was belabouring him with his umbrella. “Who left this loose nail in the floor?” he shouted. “Hammer it in, I say! Hammer it in!” Blow after blow fell on the writhing Uggug, till he dropped howling to the floor.
Then his father turned to the ‘shaving’ scene which was being enacted, and roared with laughter. “Excuse me, dear, I ca’n’t help it!” he said as soon as he could speak. “You _are_ such an utter donkey! Kiss me, Tabby!”
And he flung his arms round the neck of the terrified Professor, who raised a wild shriek, but whether he received the threatened kiss or not I was unable to see, as Bruno, who had by this time released himself from his extinguisher, rushed headlong out of the room, followed by Sylvie; and I was so fearful of being left alone among all these crazy creatures that I hurried after them.
“We must go to Father!” Sylvie panted, as they ran down the garden. “I’m _sure_ things are at their worst! I’ll ask the Gardener to let us out again.”
“But we ca’n’t _walk_ all the way!” Bruno whimpered. “How I _wiss_ we had a coach-and-four, like Uncle!”
And, shrill and wild, rang through the air the familiar voice:—
“He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four That stood beside his bed: He looked again, and found it was A Bear without a Head. ‘Poor thing,’ he said, ‘poor silly thing! It’s waiting to be fed!’”
“No, I ca’n’t let you out again!” he said, before the children could speak. “The Vice-Warden gave it me, he did, for letting you out last time! So be off with you!” And, turning away from them, he began digging frantically in the middle of a gravel-walk, singing, over and over again,
“‘Poor thing,’ he said, ‘poor silly thing! It’s waiting to be fed!’”
but in a more musical tone than the shrill screech in which he had begun.