“Would you believe it, thar was that plaguey shirk Gil Bizby a-cranin’ up the hill a-leadin’ the crowd. I sat thar a while lookin’ after ’em and then, comin’ down I began to look around a little, and pooty soon I noticed that several of ’em left thar hats, they were in such a hurry to git out. So I selected a good one, only ’twas a little out of fashion, and puttin’ it on I ses to myself, ‘If you think I’m interested enough in your welfare here or hereafter to preach to you for nothin’, you’re mistaken, I reckon.’ With that I walked out, but not until I had kicked the remainin’ hats around the room pooty lively.
“The next day I noticed an old feller with a dilapidated beaver on, that looked as if it had done duty on a scarecrow for several seasons, sidlin’ up to me, and circlin’ around two or three times lookin’ mi’ty close at my tile. I’ll allers think it was his stove-pipe, but he was too much ashamed to come right out and lay claim to it.
“But that Gil Bizby! I didn’t wonder so much at the congregation dustin’, arter all, cause they didn’t know me, but _he_!—well, no matter, I’ll git even on him yet.”
It was my good fortune the other day to attend a picnic in the country. A lady friend insisted on tacking her pet boy to me on that occasion. As she couldn’t go herself she wanted me to have an eye to “sonney,” and see that he didn’t come in contact with poison-oak. She assured me he was a good boy and would mind me as if I was his father! I didn’t pine for the pet’s company, but could not very well refuse her request. So he went with me.
I very soon found out he was one of those smart children, who, by a strange freak of nature, are placed in possession of an impudence that prompts them to believe they know more at the age of eight than your average adult.
Then the thought entered my head that his mother misrepresented “sonney’s” obedient nature. “If this is the obedience that an offspring manifests to a father,” I mentally murmured, “it were better to be destitute of the offspring.” The boy sauced me. He even went so far as to call me names anything but flattering, while I was sitting in the presence of a young lady I most ardently adored. “Go on, sonney!” I said to myself savagely, “go on, precocious youth, there are no raging bears in this suburban park to tear the flesh from the bones of mouthy children who ‘sauce’ their betters, as did the animals in the days of prophets; but nature in other ways has made provision for such as you, and has sprinkled a few shrubs around here that can pile the flesh on to a person’s bones to an alarming degree, if they get a fair chance.”