But though Edward had made much progress, and gained three prizes, his moral training had been little attended to.  He was more tyrannical than ever, both to his mother and Maggie.  It was a drawn battle between him and Nancy, and they kept aloof from each other as much as possible.  Maggie fell into her old humble way of submitting to his will, as long as it did not go against her conscience; but that, being daily enlightened by her habits of pious aspiring thought, would not allow her to be so utterly obedient as formerly.  In addition to his imperiousness, he had learned to affix the idea of cleverness to various artifices and subterfuges which utterly revolted her by their meanness.

“You are so set up, by being intimate with Erminia, that you won’t do a thing I tell you; you are as selfish and self-willed as”—­he made a pause.  Maggie was ready to cry.

“I will do anything, Ned, that is right.”

“Well! and I tell you this is right.”

“How can it be?” said she, sadly, almost wishing to be convinced.

“How—­why it is, and that’s enough for you.  You must always have a reason for everything now.  You are not half so nice as you were.  Unless one chops logic with you, and convinces you by a long argument, you’ll do nothing.  Be obedient, I tell you.  That is what a woman has to be.”

“I could be obedient to some people, without knowing their reasons, even though they told me to do silly things,” said Maggie, half to herself.

“I should like to know to whom,” said Edward, scornfully.

“To Don Quixote,” answered she, seriously; for, indeed, he was present in her mind just then, and his noble, tender, melancholy character had made a strong impression there.

Edward stared at her for a moment, and then burst into a loud fit of laughter.  It had the good effect of restoring him to a better frame of mind.  He had such an excellent joke against his sister, that he could not be angry with her.  He called her Sancho Panza all the rest of the holidays, though she protested against it, saying she could not bear the Squire, and disliked being called by his name.

Frank and Edward seemed to have a mutual antipathy to each other, and the coldness between them was rather increased than diminished by all Mr. Buxton’s efforts to bring them together.  “Come, Frank, my lad!” said he, “don’t be so stiff with Ned.  His father was a dear friend of mine, and I’ve set my heart on seeing you friends.  You’ll have it in your power to help him on in the world.”

But Frank answered, “He is not quite honorable, sir.  I can’t bear a boy who is not quite honorable.  Boys brought up at those private schools are so full of tricks!”

“Nay, my lad, there thou’rt wrong.  I was brought up at a private school, and no one can say I ever dirtied my hands with a trick in my life.  Good old Mr. Thompson would have flogged the life out of a boy who did anything mean or underhand.”