He sat on the schoolroom floor with his possessions all around him.

Only Helen was in the room, and he knew that it would be no use to appeal to her--she had become so much more conceited since Barbara's arrival--and yet he must appeal to somebody, so he said to her very politely: "Please, Helen, I've got my box and so many things to put into it and it's nearly Saturday already--and I want to show the Noahs to Mrs.
Monk." This would have been a difficult sentence for the most clear-headed person to unravel, and Helen was, at that moment, trying to write a letter to an aunt whom she had never seen and for whom she had no sort of affection, so she answered him rather roughly: "Oh, don't bother with your box, Jeremy.

Can't you see I'm busy ?" "You may be busy," said Jeremy, rising indignantly to his feet, "but I'm busy too, and my business is just as good as yours with your silly old letter." "Oh, don't bother!" said Helen, whereupon Jeremy crept behind her and pinched her stocking.

A battle followed, too commonplace in its details to demand description here.

It need only be said that Hamlet joined in it and ran away with Helen's letter which had blown to the ground during the struggle, and that he ate it, in his corner, with great satisfaction.