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done unto you." "

"Wrong. The correct quotation is: `Do unto

others as you would have done unto you.' " I reached

to assist what seemed to be an old man. Bart scowled,

panted, grabbed at his chest, then cried out about his

bad heart that shouldn't have to endure tree-climbing. "Bart, I'm fed up with you. All you do is make

trouble. Have some sympathy for Mom and Dad--and

me. It's going to be embarrassing having you for my

brother when we go back to school."

He limped along behind me as I headed toward

home, still panting, muttering between moans about

how already he was a master of finances. "Never was

born a brain more clever than mine," he mumbled. He has really gone bananas, was all I could

think as I listened to him. When he'd scrubbed his

filthy hands with a brush as if he really wanted to get

them clean, I gasped. That wasn't like Bart at all. He

was still pretending to be someone else. Soon he had

his teeth clean and was in bed. I ran fast to where I

could eavesdrop on my parents, who were in the

living room dancing to slow music.

As always, something sweet, soft and romantic

stole over me to see them like that. The tender way

she looked at him; the gentle way he touched her. I

cleared my throat before they did anything too

intimate. Without changing their positions, both

looked at me questioningly. "Yes, Jory," said Mom,

her blue eyes dreamy.

"I want to talk to you about Bart," I said. "I

think there are a few things you should know." Dad looked relieved. Mom seemed to shrink

into herself as she quietly sat beside Dad on the sofa.