Each of these farmers fancied himself slightly the best man; but they both knew they had an antagonist with whom it would not do to make the least mistake. They therefore sparred and feinted with wary eye before they ventured to close; George, however, the more impetuous, was preparing to come to closer quarters when all of a sudden, to the other's surprise, he dropped his hands by his sides, and turned the other way with a face anything but warlike, fear being now the prominent expression. William followed the direction of his eye, and then William partook his brother's uneasiness; however, he put his hands in his pockets, and began to saunter about, in a circumference of three yards, and to get up a would-be-careless whistle, while George's hands became dreadfully in his way, so he washed them in the air. While they were employed in this peaceful pantomime a beautiful young woman glided rapidly between the brothers. Her first words renewed their uneasiness. “What is this?” cried she, haughtily, and she looked from one to the other like a queen rebuking her subjects. George looked at William--William had nothing ready. So George said, with some hesitation, but in a mellifluous voice, “William was showing me--a trick--he learned at the fair--that is all, Susan.” “That is a falsehood, George,” replied the lady, “the first you ever told me”--(George colored)--“you were fighting, you two boys--I saw your eyes flash!” The rueful wink exchanged by the combatants at this stroke of sagacity was truly delicious. “Oh, fie! oh, fie! brothers by one mother fighting--in a Christian land--within a stone's throw of a church, where brotherly love is preached as a debt we owe to strangers, let alone our own blood.” “Yes! it is a sin, Susan,” said William, his conscience suddenly illuminated. “So I ask _your_ pardon, Susanna.” “Oh! it wasn't your fault, I'll be bound,” was the gracious reply. “What a ruffian you must be, George, to shed your brother's blood.” “La! Susan,” said George, with a doleful whine, “I wasn't going to shed the beggar's blood. I was only going to give him a hiding for his impudence.” “Or take one for your own,” replied William coolly. “That is more likely,” said Susan. “George, take William's hand; take it this instant, I say,” cried she, with an air imperative and impatient. “Well, why not? don't you go in a passion, Susan, about nothing,” said George coaxingly. They took hands; she made them hold one another by the hand, which they did with both their heads hanging down. “While I speak a word to you two,” said Susan Merton. “You ought both to go on your knees, and thank Providence that sent me here to prevent so great a crime; and as for you, your character must change greatly, George Fielding, before I trust myself to live in a house of yours.” “Is all the blame to fall on my head?” said George, letting go William's hand with no great apparent reluctance.