ut continue a favorite.

"Shut up there, you little donkey," shouted one or two, looking back at
him for a moment.

But Eric heard the words, and knew that it was his brother's voice. The
thought rushed on him how degraded his whole position was, and how
different it might have been. He felt that he was utterly in the wrong,
and Montagu altogether in the right; and from that moment his blows once
more grew feeble and ill-directed. When they again stopped to take rest,
the general shout for Montagu showed that he was considered to have the
best of it.

"I'm getting so tired of this," muttered Eric, during the pause.

"Why, you're fighting like a regular muff," said Graham; "you'll have to
acknowledge yourself thrashed in a minute."

"That I'll _never_ do," he said, once more firing up.

Just as the third round began, Duncan came striding in, for Owen, who
had left the room, told him what was going on. He had always been a
leading fellow, and quite recently his influence had several times been
exerted in the right direction, and he was very much looked up to by all
the boys alike, good or bad. He determined, for the credit of the sixth,
that the fight should not go on, and bursting into the ring, with his
strong shoulders he hurled on each side the boys who stood in his way,
and struck down the lifted arms of the fighters.

"You _shan't_ fight," he said, doggedly, thrusting himself between them;
"so there's an end of it. If you do, you'll both have to fight
me first."

"Shame!" said several of the boys, and the cry was caught up by Bull and
others.

"Shame, is it?" said Duncan, and his lip curled with scorn. "There's
only one way to argue with, you fellows. Bull, if you, or any other boy,
repeat that word, I'll thrash him. Here, Monty, come away from this
disgraceful scene."

"I'm sick enough of it," said Montagu, "and am ready to stop if Williams
is,--provided no one touches Wright."

"I'm sick of it too," said Eric sullenly.

"Then you two shall shake hands," said Duncan.

For one instant--an instant which he regretted till the end of his
life--Montagu drew himself up and hesitated. He had been deeply wronged,
deeply provoked, and no one could blame him for the momentary feeling:
but Eric had observed the gesture, and his passionate pride took the
alarm. "It's come to this, then," he thought; "Montagu doesn't think me
good enough to be shaken hands with."

"Pish!" he said aloud, in a tone of sarcasm; "