Correct responses are in bold.

My brother was always my best friend when I was a child, especially as we two were almost alone in the world. We lived with our old grandmother in a little house, almost a shack, in the country. Whenever I think of him now, I see a solemn, responsible boy, a boy too old for his years, who looked out for me no matter what. Once there was a bully, John Anson, who looked enormous to me, though he was probably an average twelve-year-old. John had it in for me because he liked Littice Grant, who liked me. He decided to beat me up right before her eyes. I was lucky my brother came by. He didn't interfere any. He just stood there. Somehow, though, his presence gave me confidence. I kicked the stuffing out of John Anson. If my brother hadn't been there, I don't think I could have done it.