"You are the most disobliging fellow I ever saw," retorted Edgar, angrily, rising up and going into the house to get his own knife. "Don't ever ask me for a favor, for I'll never grant it."
This very unbrotherly conversation took place just beneath the window near which Mr Harris, the father of the lads, was seated. He overheard it all, and was grieved, as may be supposed, that his sons should treat each other so unkindly. But he said nothing to them then, nor did he let them know that he heard the language that had passed between them.
In a little while Edgar returned, and as he sat down in the place where he had been seated before, he said,
"No thanks to you for your old knife! Keep it to yourself, in welcome. I wouldn't use it now, if you were to give it to me."
"I'm glad you are so independent," retorted William. "I hope you will always be so."
And the boys fretted each other for some time.
On the next day, Edgar was building a house with sticks, and William was rolling a hoop. By accident the hoop was turned from its right course, and broke down a part of Edgar's house. William was just going to say how sorry he was for the accident, and to offer to repair the damage that was done, when his brother, with his face red with passion, cried out—
"Just see what you have done! If you don't clear out with your hoop, I'll call father. You did it on purpose."
"Do go and call him! I'll go with you," said William, in a sneering, tantalizing tone. "Come, come along now."