"'You never told her so before,' muttered young Hop-o'-my-Thumb.

"'Hold your tongue,' said Melchior. 'I forbade her to talk to him,
which was enough.'

"'I don't want to leave you; but he cares for me, and you don't,'
sobbed the sister; and she was carried away.

"When she had gone, the youngest brother slid down from his corner and
came up to Melchior.

"'We are alone now, Brother,' he said; 'let us be good friends. May I
sit on the front seat with you, and have half the rug? I will be very
good and polite, and will have nothing more to do with those fellows,
if you will talk to me.'

"Now Melchior really rather liked the idea, but as his brother seemed
to be in a submissive mood, he thought he would take the opportunity
of giving him a good lecture, and would then graciously relent and
forgive. So he began by asking him if he thought that he was fit
company for him (Melchior), what he thought that gentlefolks would say
to a boy who had been playing with such youths as young
Hop-o'-my-Thumb had, and whether the said youths were not scoundrels?
And when the boy refused to say that they were (for they had been kind
to him), Melchior said that his tastes were evidently as bad as ever,
and even hinted at the old transportation threat. This was too much;
the boy went angrily back to his window corner, and Melchior--like too
many of us!--lost the opportunity of making peace for the sake of
wagging his own tongue.