"Just the thing," was the unanimous response. "Another story! a story!" and then a voice cried, "And let Dudley Wylde tell it."
"Well," said Dudley, slowly, "if I must tell a true story about myself, I'm afraid it won't be much to my credit, but as Flaxy wasn't a coward about it, I'll try to be as brave as a girl. Shall I tell you something that happened to Bernard and me when we lived over in England?"
"Oh, please don't tell that story, Dud," pleaded Bernard with reddening cheeks, but all the rest cried, "Oh, yes, go on, go on," and Dudley began.
"You all know that Bernard and I were both left orphans when we were almost little babies, and Uncle Wylde sent for us to come and live with him—me first, and Bernard about a year afterwards. I was only six years old when Bernard came, but I remember I was very angry about it. Old Joe, the coachman, and I, had had a quarrel that morning, and he told me uncle 'would never care for me any more after Cousin Bernard came, for he was a much finer boy than I, and looked like a young English lord, with his blue eyes and white skin, but I was a little, dark, ill-tempered foreigner (my mother was Italian, you know), and he wondered how uncle could like me at all.'"
"But uncle did love you dearly, you know," broke in Bernard.
"A great deal better than I deserved, that's certain," said Dudley, "but I almost worshipped him, and I couldn't bear the thoughts of his loving any one better than me. So all the day that Bernard was expected I stood sulkily by the window, and would not play, nor eat, nor even speak when Uncle Wylde came and took me in his lap.
"'Poor child,' said uncle, at last, 'he needs some one of his own age to play with. I hope the little cousins will be fine company for each other.'
"Just then the carriage drove up, and uncle ran out and took such a lovely little boy in his arms; but when I heard him say, almost with a sob, 'Darling child, you are just the image of your dear, dear mother,' then I thought, 'There, it is all true what Joe said, uncle loves him the best already;' and I bit my fingers so that when uncle bade me hold out my hand to my cousin, he was frightened to see it covered with blood, and drew back with a shiver; and then I grew angry about that, too, and called him 'proud,' and went and hid away every plaything I could find.
"Well, I won't have time to tell you every little thing, only that as Bernard and I grew up together, I did not love him any better. He was almost always kind and good."
"Now Dud, you must not say so," said Bernard, blushing. "I did everything to tease you."