"Do you know," said the boy to Oswald, "that I was determined beforehand to hate you?"
"Why, Bruno, is hatred so sweet?"
"Oh, no. But I thought all tutors were like our first, and so I said to myself that what was good for one was good for all."
"And how was Mr. Bauer?"
"Well, he was a boor," said the boy, bitterly.
"Why, my proud little lord, will you despise all low-born men?"
"Certainly not," exclaimed the boy, warmly; "my own father was but a peasant, although he was a nobleman; I have often seen him behind the plough; but this man was coarse and rude, and a coward into the bargain. Once after dinner, I do not know what I had done, he slapped me in the face because aunty was present, and he thought she would be pleased to see him do so. Yes, he beat me," and the boy's eye flashed as he recalled the insult, and the big vein on his forehead, where wrath lies hidden, swelled up high.
"And then, Bruno?"
"Then I took the knife that was lying before me on the table and jumped at him, and the wretch ran away, crying for help. And when I saw that, and all the pale faces around me, I could not help laughing, and went quietly out of the room. And I would have liked to run away into the wide, wide world on the spot, but uncle came after me and promised me that that man should never touch me again. Uncle is very kind; you don't know how kind he is. But he is afraid of aunty; everybody is afraid of her--and yet I am fond of her, for she has pluck like a man, and I hate only cowards. Malte is a coward."
"Malte is weak and sickly, and you ought to be patient with him; but if you are really fond of your aunt, why are you so cross to her?"