me."

"I don't want you to try again," rejoined Mrs Marston; "and you must
not try again without a good reason. Why did you fight him yesterday?"

"Because he told a lie," said the object promptly, swelling out again,
and looking big under the impression that the goodness of its reason
could not be questioned. It was, therefore, with a look of baffled
surprise that it collapsed again on being told that that was not a
sufficient reason for engaging in warfare, and that it was wrong to take
the law into its own hands, or to put in its word or its little fist,
where it had no right to interfere--and a great deal more to that
effect.

"But, March, my boy," said Mrs Marston, drawing the object towards her
and patting its round little fair head, "what makes you so fond of
fighting?"

"I ain't fond o' fighting, mother, but I can't help it."

"Can't help it! Do you ever try?"

"I--I--no, I don't think that I do. But I feel so funny when I see Bill
Summers cheatin' at play. I feel all over red-hot--like--oh! you've
seen the big pot boilin' over? Well, I just feel like that. An' w'en
it boils over, you know, mother, it must be took off the fire, else it
kicks up _sich_ a row! But there's nobody to take me off the fire when
I'm boilin' over, an' there's no fire to take me off--so you see I
_can't_ help it. Can I?"

As the object concluded these precociously philosophical remarks, it
looked up in its mother's face with an earnest inquiring gaze. The
mother looked down at it with an equally earnest look--though there was
a twinkle in each eye and a small dimple in each cheek that indicated a
struggle with gravity--and said--

"I could stop the big pot from boiling-over without taking it off the
fire."

"How?" inquired Two-feet-ten eagerly.

"By letting it boil over till it put the fire out."

The object opened its eyes very wide, and pursed its mouth very tight;
then it relaxed, grinned a little with an air of uncertainty, and was
about to laugh, but checked itself, and, with a look of perplexity,
said--

"Eh?"

"Ay, my boy," resumed the mother, "just you try the boiling-over plan
next time. When you feel inclined to fight, and know, or _think_, that
you shouldn't, just stand quite still, and look hard at the ground--
mind, don't look at the boy you want to fight with, but at the ground--
and begin to count one, two, three, four, and so on, and I'm quite sure
that when you've counted fifty the fire will