He spoke in a rude voice, and his manner was
imperative.
"No, I won't! Go and get your own knife," replied William, in a tone quite
as ungracious as that in which the request, or rather command, had been
made.
"I don't wish to go into the house. Give me your knife, I say. I only want
it for a minute."
"I never lend my knife, nor give it, either," returned William. "Get your
own."
"You are the most disobliging fellow I ever saw," retorted Edgar, angrily,
rising up and going into the house to get his own knife. "Don't ever ask me
for a favor, for I'll never grant it."
This very unbrotherly conversation took place just beneath the window near
which Mr Harris, the father of the lads, was seated. He overheard it all,
and was grieved, as may be supposed, that his sons should treat each other
so unkindly. But he said nothing to them then, nor did he let them know
that he heard the language that had passed between them.
In a little while Edgar returned, and as he sat down in the place where he
had been seated before, he said,
"No thanks to you for your old knife! Keep it to yourself, in welcome.
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