It is a poor rule that will not work both ways. At least, so thought
Mrs. Fletcher, though her son, Ralph Fletcher, did not seem to be of the
same opinion until he had first tasted some of his own medicine.

"I wish you would pick up that book, Ralph. You have stepped over it
twice and have still left it on the floor," Mrs. Fletcher said to her
son one morning.

"I did not drop it, mother; it was Grace," Ralph replied.

"And because you did not drop it, you think you should not pick it up?
It would be a very unhappy world, Ralph, if all worked on that
principle. However, as you seem unwilling to be polite and brotherly, I
must ask Grace to place the book on the table again."

A few mornings afterward, Ralph went to his mother, saying:

"Mother, dear, will you take a stitch in this ball for me? I ripped it
playing with Frank Danver. Will you do it now? because I'm in a hurry."

"I did not rip the ball, and so I see no reason why I should mend it,"
Mrs. Fletcher said. "You did the damage; you must repair it."

"Oh, mother--" Ralph began, then stopped suddenly.

"Yes. It is not quite as nice a rule for others to work by, is it,
Ralph?"

"No; and it won't be nice for me after this, if I can help it," Ralph