"I didn't know he was fooling," said Edmund, "and Aunt Nellie, it isn't just this time; I don't mind once; but it's all the time and--and I truly can't bear it!" The boy's pale face flushed as he spoke; his voice trembled over the last words and he turned his head away, winking his eyes hard. Oscar's own eyes grew round with amazement; it was all he could do to keep from whistling. He listened to his aunt's reproaches in silence, abstractedly sliding up and down a freshly tarred rope; and, at their close, when sentence was pronounced (keeping his high spirits below deck the rest of the day), he merely nodded his head and walked off saying: "All right, Aunt Nellie, that's fair enough, I am sure; I'll stay all right." "Well!" said Mrs. Morris in a puzzled way, "did ever one see such a boy? I don't believe he cares a particle--Mercy!" The last ejaculation was caused by her seeing Oscar's back. "Let him go," said Nora, who was shrewder than her sister; "don't say anything about that to-day; I'm not sure about his not caring." Oscar went directly to the cabin. His young head was fully occupied trying to make out his cousin's behavior. The boys had never seen each other until they met in New York, about a week previous to sailing. It was Oscar's first visit East. The New York boys were amused by his Western way of speaking and showed their amusement openly. They made fun of his dress, too, which to be sure was rather queer, for his mother had been dead many years and the bishop, good man, was only anxious to encourage the tradespeople in his own town, and took whatever they were pleased to offer. Mrs. Morris soon reformed his wardrobe, and Oscar went to work, himself, reforming his tormentors' manners with his fists. He was in the full career of his missionary work, and well covered with bruises, when it came time to sail. Edmund was the only New York boy now left him. It happened that Edmund had taken little notice of Oscar, thinking him a rude, quarrelsome, noisy fellow; while Oscar had a slight opinion of Edmund--a boy who did not fight, or play games, and always afraid of soiling his clothes. He said to himself that he would "give Ned a pretty lively voyage." At first, Edmund was simply scornful; then he became irritated--at last, angry in good earnest. The quarrel was the sequel of a series of petty annoyances. Nevertheless it bewildered Oscar. Ned had not acted in the least as expected. He could fight; and though he fought in an ignorant, unskilful fashion that aroused Oscar's pity, he could fight vigorously, and take hard knocks without whimpering. Most marvelous of all, "Ned" whom he had pictured wrapt in self-admiration because he lived in New York and his father was so rich--Ned had been hurt by the teasing.