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“Oh, Master Laurence! Master Laurence! don’t do that—don’t be so cruel!” appealed Kitty, piteously.

But he had drawn another forth, and crying, “Cruel! It’s fun, Kitty—fun!” tore it limb from limb, and threw it piecemeal into the blaze.

“There’s another! and there’s another!” he shouted in glee, as the rest followed in swift succession; and Kitty, shrieking in pain and horror, ran from the kitchen, bringing the cook and housemaid downstairs with her cries.

For the first time in his life Mr. Aspinall administered a sound castigation to his son, regretting that he had not done it earlier.

No more was said of his son’s fine spirit; but, prompt to act, he lost no time in seeking his admission into the Free Grammar School; and either to spare him the long daily walk in tenderness for his health (Ardwick was more than a mile away), or to place him under strict supervision, boarded Laurence with one of the masters.

Yet he gave that master no clue to his son’s besetting sin; so he was left free to tantalise and torment every weaker creature within his orbit, from the schoolmaster’s cat, which he shod with walnut-shells, to the youngest school-boy, whose books he tore and hid, whose hair he pulled, whose cap and frills he soused in the mud.