"Tom, I feel in such bad humour with myself," said Willy, as the two brothers prepared to go to rest in the chamber provided for them.
"Well, I feel uncommonly merry; we've fine fun, capital games, comfortable quarters, and a pleasant companion, I am sure. Are you not contented with them?"
"I am not contented with myself," said Willy. "I say, Tom, I think that we two are little better than cowards."
"What do you mean?" cried his brother angrily.
"Why, things made us laugh that should have made us blush, though that verse was sounding in my ears, 'Fools make a mock of sin;' and we quietly heard our poor lame friend abused, called a pitiful creature, a miserable little fellow, when, if we had had the spirit of a Nesham—if we had had any spirit at all—we would have stood up for poor Percy when he was not here to stand up for himself."
Tom looked annoyed, but made no reply.
"You know," continued Willy, "even the little boy in the tale went to the rescue of his cousin who was under the claws of the bear."
"Ah! If Percy were attacked by a bear!"
"There's no use in saying that, Tom; he is not likely to be so. We cannot choose our opportunities of showing our courage; if it is in us it will shine out on any occasion! I don't believe that either you or I said grace, because we were afraid of Sir Hugh and his son; and if we had been at home with mamma and dear old uncle, we should have been just as much afraid to have left off saying it."
"I wish that you would leave off this nonsense. I'm no coward, whatever you may be; I'm afraid of nothing and nobody!"