8 The Brothers.

 

a-dozen passengers had run up against them
in turns.

“Is that your box, Stephen?” John asked
at last, and Stephen nodded,

“Then we had better take it away,” said
the other. “ There’s the carrier outside ; he'll
take it down to aunt’s for you.”

John was nine years old and Stephen eight,
both tall strong boys for their age; and the
box was small enough; they found no diffi-
culty in carrying it through the station to
the cart, which was standing outside in the
little country road, under the trees.

“T’ve met my brother, Mr. Brown,” John
said to the carrier. “And here’s his box, if
you'll be kind enough to take it to aunt’s.”

The carrier —a stout countryman, with
big blue eyes—stared with all his might at
- Stephen.

“What! is he your brother?” he asked,
surprised ; for John’s rosy cheeks and blue
eyes and rings of yellow hair formed the
strangest contrast to his brother’s face, which
was dark as a gipsy’s. Still more unlike was
John’s neat look to Stephen’s neglected ap-
pearance and shabby dress; John’s springing
step to Stephen’s slouching tread; John’s
frank gaze to Stephen’s timid, furtive glances.