have you all to
myself; and now--"

"Jack, dear," said Hildegarde, quietly, "are you thinking of falling in
love with me, by any chance?"

Jack looked down at her with startled eyes.

"Why--no! I wasn't, Hilda; but I will, if you want me to. I--what makes
you say that? I thought we were brother and sister."

"I thought so, too," said Hildegarde, smiling. "But if my brother is
going to show his teeth and growl at all the other dogs--I mean boys--he
meets, I don't think I shall find it comfortable. There was a dog in a
manger once; perhaps you have heard of him."

Jack winced, but owned he had.

"And--and even if you were not my brother," Hildegarde went on, "the
idea of being jealous of the twins is so funny that--well, when you
know them, Jack, you will laugh as much as I did. They are not that
_kind_ of boy, at all. No boys were ever less so."

"That red-haired fellow," said Jack, still distrustful; "what was he
saying about skating with you before? I thought he _sounded_ decidedly
spoony, Hilda. I won't be disagreeable any more, but I say this
seriously."

"Gerald! naughty, naughty Gerald! that was so like him! He is quick as a
flash, Jack, and he said that just to torment you. I have never skated
with him in my life; I never knew them till this last summer. Oh, he is
such a funny boy! Come on, and I will tell you some of his pranks as we
go along!"

* * * * *

Gerald and Philip Merryweather walked home in moody silence. They came
upon a loose stone, and kicked it along before them with savage and
purposeful kicks. Neither mentioned the fact of the stone's representing
any particular person, but when either made a specially successful
kick, he looked at the other for sympathy, and found it in a grim nod
and chuckle. Only once did they break silence.

"Poor Codger!" said Gerald.

"H'm!" growled Philip, assenting.

"Know when he's coming?"

"No! Don't suppose it will make any difference, though."

"S'pose not!"

"H'm!"

"H'm!"

Reaching the house, they sat down on the steps and pitched gravel stones
in gloomy rivalry. So sitting, it chanced that Bell came upon them;
Bell, with a face more than commonly bright (though she was always one
of the most cheerful of mortals), with her hands full of ground pine,
fresh from a walk in the woods, humming a fragment of the Mendelssohn
Concerto.

"What's the matter with my boys?" she demanded, promptly.

"Nothing!" responde