n he's got eleven years the start. Whoop! There's a dog-fight!
Hear 'em! It's Joe Casey's dog--I know his bark!"

With these words my nephew snatched his Glengarry bonnet from the table
and bolted downstairs to see the fun.

"What will become of him?" said Lu hopelessly; "he has no taste for
anything but rough play; and then such language as he uses! Why _isn't_
he like Daniel?"

"I suppose because his Maker never repeats himself. Even twins often
possess strongly marked individualities. Don't you think it would be a
good plan to learn Billy better before you try to teach him? If you do
you'll make something as good of him as Daniel; though it will be rather
different from that model."

"Remember, Ned, that you never did like Daniel as well as you do
Billy. But we all know the proverb about old maids' daughters and old
bachelors' sons. I wish you had Billy for a month--then you'd see."

"I'm not sure that I'd do any better than you. I might err as much in
other directions. But I'd try to start right by acknowledging that he
was a new problem, not to be worked without finding the value of 'x' in
his particular instance. The formula which solves one boy will no more
solve the next one than the rule of three will solve a question
in calculus--or, to rise into your sphere, than the receipt for
one-two-three-four cake conduct you to a successful issue through plum
pudding--"

I excel in metaphysical discussions, and was about giving further
elaboration of my favorite idea when the door burst open. Master Billy
came tumbling in with a torn jacket, a bloody nose, the trace of a few
tears in his eyes, and the mangiest of cur dogs in his hands.

"Oh my! my!! my!!!" exclaimed his mother.

"Don't you get scared, ma!" cried Billy, smiling a stern smile of
triumph; "I smashed the nose off him! He won't sass me again for nothing
_this_ while! Uncle Teddy, d'ye know it wasn't a dogfight after all?
There was that nasty good-for-nothing Joe Casey 'n' Patsy Grogan and a
lot of bad boys from Mackerelville; and they'd caught this poor little
ki-oodle and tied a tin pot to his tail and were trying to set Joe's dog
on him, though he's ten times littler--"

"You naughty, naughty boy! How did you suppose your mother'd feel to see
you playing with those ragamuffins?"

"Yes, I _played_ 'em! I polished 'em--that's the play I did! Says I,
'Put down that poor little pup! Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Patsy
Grogan?' 'I guess you don't k