"Why—no! I wasn't, Hilda; but I will, if you want me to. I—what makes you say that? I thought we were brother and sister."
"I thought so, too," said Hildegarde, smiling. "But if my brother is going to show his teeth and growl at all the other dogs—I mean boys—he meets, I don't think I shall find it comfortable. There was a dog in a manger once; perhaps you have heard of him."
Jack winced, but owned he had.
"And—and even if you were not my brother," Hildegarde went on, "the idea of being jealous of the twins is so funny that—well, when you know them, Jack, you will laugh as much as I did. They are not that kind of boy, at all. No boys were ever less so."
"That red-haired fellow," said Jack, still distrustful; "what was he saying about skating with you before? I thought he sounded decidedly spoony, Hilda. I won't be disagreeable any more, but I say this seriously."
"Gerald! naughty, naughty Gerald! that was so like him! He is quick as a flash, Jack, and he said that just to torment you. I have never skated with him in my life; I never knew them till this last summer. Oh, he is such a funny boy! Come on, and I will tell you some of his pranks as we go along!"
Gerald and Philip Merryweather walked home in moody silence. They came upon a loose stone, and kicked it along before them with savage and purposeful kicks. Neither mentioned the fact of the stone's representing any particular person, but when either made a specially successful kick, he looked at the other for sympathy, and found it in a grim nod and chuckle. Only once did they break silence.
"Poor Codger!" said Gerald.
"H'm!" growled Philip, assenting.