“What is the matter, brotherkin? Tell sister, do. Is it nothing but that miserable candy? What else have you done to make auntie so angry with you?”
Ned’s bosom heaved and a mighty sob burst forth. But he instantly repressed this sign of weakness, though unfortunately, not soon enough to prevent Luis from echoing it with redoubled intensity.
Now nothing so quickly restores the self-possession, even of grown-ups, as the sight of another’s collapse; and no sooner had Luis given vent to his emotion than Ned’s spirit returned to him. Throwing back his pretty head, with an air of unconquerable resolution, he reached forth and pounded his mate smartly on the back.
“You, Luis Garcia, what you crying for? Isn’t none of your staffs, anyway.”
“Ain’t my old staffs, ain’t,” sobbed the “echo,” for such he was often nicknamed.
“Then you needn’t cry, you needn’t. I ain’t crying, I ain’t. Hate old Aunt Sally. Hate ’Tonio. Hate Ferd. Hate everybody. Give me my breakfast, old Aunt Sally Benton!”
“Hate Bentons!” agreed Luis, and flung his arms about his little tyrant’s throat till he choked from outward expression whatever more might have issued thence.
“Ned! Why, Ned! I never, never knew you so naughty! Do tell me; what has happened?”
Mrs. Benton glared at the culprit over her down-dropped spectacles in a truly formidable manner, but the result was only a settled stubbornness which nothing moved.