Just see what discomfort you give your neighbors, to say nothing of yourself and the poor little animals." "Fred is nothing but a wandering menagerie-cage; and no decent person is safe anywhere near him," said Oscar, returning to his book.
"At any rate, my collections are not all the time falling through and coming to nothing, like your clubs," retorted Fred.

"And see here, mamma, what a handsome and useful little fellow this is; let me read you what it says about him"; and Fred opened his book, which was always close at hand:-- "'The gold-chafer, _Auratus_, with its arched wing-coverings, and its strong pincers, lives upon caterpillars, larvae, and other injurious insects, and thus makes itself very useful.

But instead of being protected on this account, as it deserves to be, it is everywhere persecuted and trodden upon.' So you see, mamma." "We will not persecute your chafer, Fred; but his place is not in your pocket, nor on the study-table, my boy; take him away," said his mother; and at the same time his aunt called to Rikli through the open door:-- "Come back, dear little girl, and don't behave as if a little beetle could eat you up alive! If you go through life shrieking out over every trifle, you will some time or other be punished for it; for no one will pay any attention to your screams, even when there is something really the matter." Rikli came back into the room just as Fred was carrying the beetle out, and, as they met in the door-way, Fred said:-- "I'll make up a poem about you.

You are the musician with the sweet tones of your voice, and I am a brother-artist, a poet" "Yes, yes! a lovely piece of poetry can be made about your pockets full of long-legged creatures, that come crawling out and stretch their horrid long legs all over the table!" "Of course there could," said Fred stoutly, and went off to lodge his useful persecuted gold-chafer in his cabinet.
When the children were clearing away their work, before going to bed, their mother said:-- "To-morrow afternoon is a holiday, and I want you, Emma, to go and visit the little sick girl, Nora Stanhope; and it will be well for you to go every holiday and Sundays too.

She will be very glad to see you." "It will be a good thing for Emma to have a friend of her own; then perhaps she'll let other people's friends alone," said Oscar, in a tone of satisfaction.
Emma made no reply, but went quietly to bed; she had not the least idea of giving up her friendship for Fani, to please anybody.
As they were all going upstairs in a little family procession,--first Oscar, then Emma, then the aunt, and last the two younger children,--Fred turned to Rikli and said:-- "Haha, Rikli, this goes capitally!" and he sang in a loud voice to a tune of his own making:-- "Hanseli is a cry-baby, Rikli is another; She is so much like him, He must be her brother." Rikli was breaking out into an indignant cry at this unflattering comparison, but her aunt turned and took her by the hand, saying:-- "Not again to-day, my dear, nor yet to-morrow, I hope.