I excel in metaphysical discussion, and was about giving further elaboration to my favorite idea, when the door burst open.  Master Billy came tumbling in with a torn jacket, a bloody nose, the trace of a few tears in his eyes, and the mangiest of cur dogs in his hands.

“Oh my! my!! my!!!” exclaimed his mother.

“Don’t you get scared, ma!” cried Billy, smiling a stern smile of triumph; “I smashed the nose off him!  He wont sass me again for nothing this while!  Uncle Teddy, d’ye know it wasn’t a dog-fight, after all?  There was that nasty, good-for-nothing Joe Casey, ’n Patsy Grogan, and a lot of bad boys from Mackerelville; and they’d caught this poor little ki-oodle and tied a tin pot to his tail, and were trying to set Joe’s dog on him, though he’s ten times littler.”

“You naughty, naughty boy!  How did you suppose your mother’d feel to see you playing with those ragamuffins?”

“Yes, I played ’em!  I polished ’em,—­that’s the play I did!  Says I, ’Put down that poor little pup; ain’t you ashamed of yourself, Patsy Grogan?’ ‘I guess you don’t know who I am,’ says he.  That’s the way they always say, Uncle Teddy, to make a fellow think they’re some awful great fighters.  So says I again, ’Well, you put down that dog, or I’ll show you who I am’; and when he held on, I let him have.  Then he dropped the pup, and as I stooped to pick it up he gave me one on the bugle.”

“Bugle!  Oh! oh! oh!”

“The rest pitched in to help him; but I grabbed the pup, and while I was trying to give as good as I got,—­only a fellow can’t do it well with only one hand, Uncle Teddy,—­up came a policeman, and the whole crowd ran away.  So I got the dog safe, and here he is!”

With that Billy set down his “ki-oodle,” bid farewell to every fear, and wiped his bleeding nose.  The unhappy beast slunk back between the legs of his preserver and followed him out of the room, as Lu, with an expression of maternal despair, bore him away for the correction of his dilapidated raiment and depraved associations.  I felt such sincere pride in this young Mazzini of the dog-nation, that I was vexed at Lu for bestowing on him reproof instead of congratulation; but she was not the only conservative who fails to see a good cause and a heroic heart under a bloody nose and torn jacket.  I resolved that if Billy was punished he should have his recompense before long in an extra holiday at Barnum’s or the Hippotheatron.

You already have some idea of my other nephew, if you have noticed that none of us, not even that habitual disrespecter of dignities, Billy, ever called him Dan.  It would have seemed as incongruous as to call Billy William.  He was one of those youths who never gave their parents a moment’s uneasiness; who never had to have their wills broken, and never forget to put on their rubbers or take an umbrella.  In boyhood he was intended for a missionary.  Had it been possible for him to go to Greenland’s icy mountains without catching cold, or India’s coral strand, without getting bilious, his parents would have carried out their pleasing dream of contributing him to the world’s evangelization.  Lu and Mr. Lovegrove had no doubt that he would have been greatly blessed if he could have stood it....