Jeremy was banished into his bedroom, where he employed the sunny morning in drawing pictures of Aunt Amy as a witch upon the wallpaper.

For doing this he was caned by Aunt Amy herself with a ruler, and at the end of the operation he laughed and said she hadn't hurt him at all.

In return for this impertinence he was robbed, at luncheon, of his pudding--which was, of course, on that very day, marmalade pudding--and then, Mary being discovered putting some of hers into a piece of paper, to be delivered to him in due course, they were both stood in different corners of the room "until you say you're sorry." When the jingle arrived at three o'clock they had still not made this acknowledgment, and Jeremy said he never would, "not if he lived till he was ninety-nine." At quarter past three Jeremy might have been seen sitting up very straight in the jingle, his face crimson from washing and temper.

He was wearing his new sailor suit, which tickled him and was hot and sticky; he sat there devoting the whole of his energies to the business of hating Aunt Amy.
As I have said, he had never hated anyone before, and he was surprised at the glow of virtuous triumph that this new emotion spread over his body.

He positively loved to hate Aunt Amy, and as Parkes, the pony, slowly toiled up the hill to the Cathedral, he sat stiff and proud with an almost humorous anger.