Once in school a boy whispered maliciously, “Genie, Art is reading a dime novel.” Now I had never read a dime novel, but having strait-laced notions of how wicked they were, my whole soul rose in denial--_my_ brother do such a thing! No! But seeing Arthur bending over his geography with unaccustomed diligence, something in his absorption told me that _what that boy said was true_! The tears flowed fast. Ah, the bitterness of that knowledge! Someone--the same boy, was it?--told Arthur his little sister was weeping because he was reading a dime novel, and at recess he berated me; I cried the more bitterly; he then consoled me in his half-scolding, half-wheedling way, finally promising not to do it again. And when he first learned to smoke! We were skating on the canal at noon-time, I skating with a girl that Arthur was “sweet on.” Suddenly he skated past us with a braggadocio air, _a cigar in his mouth_! Carrie and I gave one look at each other, one swift, comprehending look--if Arthur had robbed a bank or stolen a horse we could hardly have felt worse. We tacitly sat down and took off our skates, and, heavy-hearted, went ’cross-lots to school, the skates dangling from our arms, and the lumps in our throats choking us. I cannot remember that we talked about it; it was too awful to discuss. And that defiant look of Arthur’s, how it cut! Our grief-stricken faces must have worked on his conscience, for in the afternoon a note was passed to me (I’ve no doubt he wrote to Her, too), in which Arthur said: DEAR SISTER, Why did you leave the ice this noon? We had a good time. Then as if in afterthought, Did you feel bad because I was smoking? I won’t do it again. Your loving brother, ARTHUR. He kept his word for a long time; then, whenever he would break it, there would be tears and repentance and fresh promises. Similar scenes occurred the first time I smelled his breath and learned that he had been drinking. Heart-breakings, attempted denials, then confessions, promises, struggles to keep them, followed by lapses, penitence, and tears. “I’ll never do it again, Genie,” used to make my heart bound with hope. The tears no longer come now. Something too deep for tears is felt when the poor fellow, thinking he can keep his word this time, says penitently, “I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t do it again, Genie.”