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Once, during the silent meal, little Cynthia tried to create a diversion in her cousin’s favor by remarking timidly to nobody in particular, but to the company in general, “Arthur says Brace Barlow says he saved his life.”

“Who says what?” inquired Mrs. Dustin, turning quickly and fixing her sharp eyes on the little girl’s face.

“Brace Barlow says—I mean Arthur says Brace Barlow says—he saved his——”

“Oh, fiddlesticks!” interrupted her mother; “you don’t know what you’re talking about. It isn’t at all likely that either of them did anything of the kind. The sort of danger Brace Barlow goes into is quick and sure. When it once gets started there isn’t any chance for life-saving, or for telling of it afterwards. Arthur ought to know better than to go round boasting in that way to a little girl like you, and I should think he’d be ashamed of himself for doing it.”

Arthur listened to this unjust speech with a flushed face and a feeling of choking indignation; but he did not say a word. Young as he was, he had already learned that in a contest with an unreasonable person silence is the weapon of wisdom.