d him '_proud_,' and went and hid away every
plaything I could find.

"Well, I won't have time to tell you every little thing, only that as
Bernard and I grew up together, I did not love him any better. He was
almost always kind and good."

"Now Dud, you must not say so," said Bernard, blushing. "I did
everything to tease you."

"You must not interrupt," cried Dudley. "This is _my_ story,
remember. You never teased me much, but the great thing I couldn't
forgive you was that uncle loved you best."

"No, I'm sure he didn't," cried Bernard.

"No more interruptions," said all the children, and Dudley went on.

"Well, you see I was very suspicious and miserable, and I always
thought Bernard wanted to make fun of me. When he first began to call
me 'Dud,' for _short_, I thought he meant that I was like the old rags
that Joe used to clean the carriages with, for he always used to call
them 'old duds.' And then sometimes when I came in from riding on
Lightfoot's bare back, with my hair blown every sort of a way, if he
said, 'Shall we have our lessons now, uncle? here comes _Wylde_,' I
always thought he was trying to make uncle think I was _wild_ like
those horrid Indians we used to read about, while he, Bernard, was
always neat and smooth like a little gentleman. So you see there was
nothing that Bernard could do or say, that I did not twist around to
make myself miserable.

"One day, when I had been playing with my dog Sambo half the morning,
and riding Lightfoot the rest of the time, I was called on to recite
Latin to uncle, and didn't know one word. But Bernard recited like a
book, and when it was over, uncle did not scold me, he never did, but
just gave Bernard the pretty picture I had long been wanting, of the
boy climbing up over crag and ice, shouting 'Excelsior.'

"That very afternoon we had planned to take a walk together to an old
ruined castle, but I was so cross and sullen I wonder Bernard did not
slip away and go alone. I can't begin to tell you how envious and
unhappy I felt, and I quarrelled so with him about every little thing,
that at last he scarcely opened his mouth."

"I don't believe this story is true," said Flaxy indignantly. "I'm
sure the Dudley Wylde _we_ know was never so bad and quarrelsome."

Dudley smiled, while Bettine whispered softly, "But he's different
_now_, Flaxy. Do you know his uncle says he is trying to be a
_Christian_?"

Flaxy looked up with a bright tear of sympathy, as Du