"Sharpen his knife, Amos," said Mr. Crawson sternly; "the steel is on the window sill."
The first, fish was only half cleaned when Daniel screamed and held up his finger where there was a slight cut.
"I can't do any more, it smarts so," he said in a sulky tone.
"Very well, mine will be done presently," said Amos beginning to whistle.
"Mother, I want a rag. I've cut my finger," shouted Dan at the foot of the stairs.
"Get one then. You know where they are," said his mother.
Tearing off a piece of cloth from a bundle in the drawer, the boy presently made his appearance on the stoop holding his cut finger with his well hand.
"You think you've got off finely; but I guess you're mistaken," said Amos, jerking his brother's elbow with a disagreeable laugh.
"I shan't touch one of them fish with my sore finger."
"What'll you bet?" queried Amos, glancing in his brother's face with a sneer.