How well he understood the character of his son.
"Here is a lad, Mr.Jones, who complains that you not only refuse to teach him, but deprive him of his books." "He tells the truth, sir," returned that worthy, casting upon me a spiteful, sidelong glance, which seemed to say more eloquently than words, "You shall see, master Geoffrey, what you'll get by tale-bearing.
I'll match you yet." "I have withheld his books, and refused my instructions for the past week, as a punishment for his insolent and disrespectful conduct to your son and me; to say nothing of his impertinent speeches regarding _you_, sir, who are his guardian and benefactor." "Do you hear that--sir!" said my uncle, giving me a violent blow on my cheek, and flinging me from him.

"When next you come to me with such tales, you shall not leave your bed for a week." I sprang from the floor, where his blow had sent me; and stood erect before him.

It was a pigmy confronting a giant; but my blood was boiling.

I had lost all control over myself.

"It's a lie!" I cried, shaking my fist at Mr.Jones.