When I was a boy I got a cut acrost my legs that made a scar ye can see now, and it was a hair-cloth sofy that done it.

Keep out o' that old parlor.

Ye might as well go into a cage o' wolves.

How be I goin' to make ye remember it ?" "I don't know," I whimpered and began to cry out in fearful anticipation.
He set me in a chair, picked up one of his old carpet-slippers and began to thump the bed with it.

He belabored the bed with tremendous vigor.
Meanwhile he looked at me and exclaimed: "You dreadful child!" I knew that my sins were responsible for this violence.