He knew Covey well, for Mrs.Covey was the daughter of Mr.Kemp; and he (Sandy) had heard of the barbarous treatment to which I was subjected, and he wanted to do something for me.
Now all this talk about the root, was to me, very absurd and ridiculous, if not positively sinful.

I at first rejected the idea that the simple carrying a root on my right side (a root, by the way, over which I walked every time I went into the woods) could possess any such magic power as he ascribed to it, and I was, therefore, not disposed to cumber my pocket with it.

I had a positive aversion to all pretenders to _"divination."_ It was beneath one of my intelligence to countenance such dealings with the devil, as this power implied.

But, with all my learning--it was really precious little--Sandy was more than a match for me.

"My book learning," he said, "had not kept Covey off me" (a powerful{185} argument just then) and he entreated me, with flashing eyes, to try this.