Two grimy little shirt bosoms heaved with shame and anger; two pairs of eyes hid themselves under protecting lids; two pairs of moist and stained hands sought the shelter of charitable pockets,—­then the cause of war was declared by Mike sulkily.

“Joe Guinee hooked my bernanner.”

“I never!” said Joe hotly.  “I swapped with him f’r a peach, ’n he e’t the peach at noon-time, ’n then wouldn’t gimme no bernanner.”

“The peach warn’t no good,” Mike interpolated swiftly, seeing my expression,—­“it warn’t no good, Miss Kate.  When I come to eat it I had ter chuck half of it away, ‘nd then Joe Guinee went t’ my lunch bucket and hooked my bernanner!”

I sat down on the top step, motioned the culprits to do likewise, and then began dispensing justice tempered with mercy for the twenty-fifth time that day.  “Mike, you say Joe took your banana?”

“Yes ’m,—­he hooked it.”

“Same thing.  You have your words and I have mine, and I’ve told you before that mine mean just as much and sound a little better.  But I thought that you changed that banana for a peach, and ate the peach?”

“I did.”

“Then, why wasn’t that banana Joe’s?—­you had taken his peach.”

“He hadn’t oughter hooked—­took it out o’ my bucket.”

“No, and you ought not to have put it into your bucket.”

“He hooked—­took what warn’t his.”

“You kept what wasn’t yours.  How do you expect to have a good fruit store, either of you, by and by, and have people buy your things, if you haven’t any idea of making a good square trade?  Do try to be honest; and if you make an exchange stick to it; fighting over a thing never makes it any better.  Look at that banana!—­is it any good to either of you now?” (Pause.  The still small voice was busy, but no sound was heard save the distant whistle of the janitor.)

“I could bring another one to Joe to-morrer,” said Mike, looking at his ragged boot and scratching it along the edge of the step.

“I don’t want yer to, ’f the peach was sour ’n you had ter chuck it away,” responded Joe amiably.

“Yes, I think he ought to bring the banana; he made the trade with his eyes open, and the peach didn’t look sour, for I saw you squeezing it when you ought to have been singing your morning hymn,—­I thought you would get into trouble with it then.  Now is it all right, Mike?—­that’s good!  And Joe, don’t go poking into other people’s lunch baskets.  If you hadn’t done that, you silly boy,” I philosophized whimsically for my own edification, “you would have been a victim; but you descended to the level of your adversary, and you are now simply another little rascal.”