But this demonstration failed to shelter him.

A general hiss greeted the sound of his whimper, and cries of, "Where's his bottle ?" "Meow!" "Hush-a-bye baby!" His ruthless tyrants, who knew no distinction between the tears of a crocodile and the tears of a terrified child, made him go through his catechism to the bitter end.

They howled with delight when they heard him call himself Bertie, and paused in dead silence to hear him say whether he was like "papa or mamma"-- "or nurse ?" as some one suggested.

He took refuge in tears again, with the result that his inquisitors were more than ever determined to get their answer.
"Hang it, you young ass," said one boy, whom the child, even in his flutter and misery, recognised as the boy who had accosted them at the door of Westover's that morning, "can't you answer without blubbering like that?
Nobody's going to eat you up." This friendly admonition served to set the boy on his feet, and he stammered out, "Mother." "You weren't asked if you were like your mother," shouted some one, "are you most like 'papa or mamma ?'" "Mamma," faltered the boy.

Whereat there was great jubilation, as there was also when he described his hatter as _Mr_.