er
way,--by stopping their boy-quarrels.

"Boys, don't wrangle so! If you knew how it makes my head ache!"

When these words came from the mother resting in her chair, the quarrel
ceased suddenly. It ended without settlement, to be sure, which is the
best way of finishing up quarrels. There are always seeds of new wars
sown in treaties of peace. Austria is not content with her share of
Poland, and Russia privately determines upon another bite of Turkey.
John thinks it very unjust that he must give up his ball to Tom, and
resolves to have the matter out when they get down into the street;
while Tom, equally dissatisfied, feels that he has been treated like a
baby, and despises the umpire for the partial decision.

These two boys, indeed, had their perpetual quarrel. Harry, the older,
always got on in the world. He had a strong arm, a jolly face, and a
solid opinion of himself that made its way without his asking for it.
Ernest, on the other hand, was obliged to be constantly dependent on his
brother for defence, for his position with other boys at school,--as he
grew up, for his position in life, even. Harry was the favorite always.
The schoolmaster--or teacher, as we call him nowadays--liked Harry best,
although he was always in scrapes, and often behindhand in his studies,
while Ernest was punctual, quiet, and always knew his lessons, though
his eyes looked dreamily through his books rather than into them.

Harry had great respect for Ernest's talent, made way for it, would
willingly work for him. Ernest accepted these benefits: he could not
help it, they were so generously offered. But the consciousness that
he could not live without them weighed him down and made him moody. He
alternately reproached himself for his ingratitude, and his brother for
his favors. Sometimes he called himself a slave for being willing to
accept them; at other times he would blame himself as a tyrant for
making such demands upon an elder brother.

As Mrs. Schroder leaned back in her chair after her morning's labor,
the door opened, and a young girl came into the room. She had a fresh,
bright face, a brown complexion, a full, round figure. She came in
quickly, nodded cheerily to Mrs. Schroder, and knelt down in front of
the fire to warm her hands.

"I did want to come in this morning," she said,--"the very last day! I
should have liked to help you about Ernest's things. But Aunt Martha
must needs have a supernumerary wash, and I have j