It is not fit to hit a Dog if he lie on the mat and is not a bad Dog.

Do not hit a Dog, or a cat, or a boy." Jem not only got through this lesson much better than usual, but he lingered at my mother's knees, to point with his own little stumpy forefinger to each recurrence of the words "hit a Dog," and read them all by himself.
"_Very_ good boy," said Mother, who was much pleased.

"And now read this last sentence once more, and very nicely." "Do--not--hit--a--dog--or--a--cat--or--a--boy," read Jem in a high sing-song, and with a face of blank indifference, and then with a hasty dog's-ear he turned back to the previous page, and spelled out, "I had my bat and I hit him as he lay on the mat" so well, that my mother caught him to her bosom and covered him with kisses.
"He'll be as good a scholar as Jack yet!" she exclaimed.

"But don't forget, my darling, that my Jem must never 'hit a dog, or a cat, or a boy.' Now, love, you may put the book away." Jem stuck out his lips and looked down, and hesitated.

He seemed almost disposed to go on with his lessons.