garden, so in the house, all things were
partitioned into halves, from the attic down to the kennel of a cellar.
The trap-door was open, but underneath the domain of each was enclosed
in lattice-work and padlocked. All the other doors were likewise hung
with locks, as if an attack of burglars was looked for every moment.
The stable was the property of one brother, and the shed of another.
Not a word was ever spoken in the house, unless when one of them cursed
or swore for his own edification.

Mike and Conrad--such were their names--were both past the prime of
life and alone in the world. Conrad's wife had died early, and now he
lived by himself; and Mike had never been married.

A blue chest, of the kind called "bench-chests," was the first cause of
the quarrel. After their mother's death all the property should have
been divided between them: their sister, who was married in the
village, had received her share in advance. Conrad claimed the chest as
having been bought by his own money, earned by breaking stones on the
turnpike: he had only lent it to his mother, he said, and it belonged
to him. Mike alleged, on the other hand, that Conrad had eaten his
mother's bread and therefore had no property of his own. After a
violent altercation, the matter came before the squire, and then before
the court; and it was finally decided that, as the brothers could not
agree, every thing in the house, including the chest, should be sold
and the proceeds divided. The house itself was put up at auction; but,
as no purchaser was found, the brothers had nothing to do but to keep
it.

They were now compelled to publicly buy their own chattels,--their
bedding and other furniture. Conrad disliked this greatly. There are
many things in every house which no stranger is rich enough to pay for,
for there are associations connected with them which have no value for
any one but the original possessor. Such things should descend quietly
from generation to generation: this preserves their value unimpaired.
But, when they must be torn from the hands of strangers by the force of
money, a great part of their value is lost: they are thenceforth things
purchased for coin, and have not the more sacred character of an
inheritance. Thoughts like these often made Conrad shake his head when
some old utensil was knocked down to him; and when the velvet-bound
hymn-book of his mother, with the silver studs and buckles, came up,
and a peddler weighed it in