"'I knew you'd say that, Mrs. B.; I knew you'd say that! You never do agree with me in any of my plans and undertakin's.'
"'Which accounts fer our still havin' a roof over our heads,' said she.
"'But, I can tell you, this time I'm a-goin' ahead. I don't care what people say; I don't care what they do, or what they don't do; I'm goin' ahead. It'll be blackgum ag'in' thunder this time, and I'm blackgum. You've heard about the thunder and lightnin' tacklin' a blackgum-tree?'
"'Ever since I was born,' said she.
"'Well, there's a awful scatterin' of dust and chips when that sort of a fight is on; but nobody ever yet heard of thunder gettin' the better of a blackgum-tree. And I'm goin' to be a blackgum!'
"Mrs. Batterfield made no reply to this remark, but in her heart she said: 'And I'm goin' to be thunder.'
"The next morning, Abner Batterfield put on his best clothes, and walked to the little town about two miles distant. He didn't enter the business part of the place, but turned into a shady side street where stood a small one-story building, almost by itself. This was the village library, and the librarian was sitting in the doorway, reading a book. He was an elderly man of comfortable contour, and wore no glasses, even for the finest print.
"'Mornin', Abner,' said the librarian; 'have you brought back that book?'
"Abner seated himself on the door-step. 'No, I haven't, Mr. Brownsill,' said he; 'I forgot it. I forgot it, but I remember some things that's in it, and I've come to talk about 'em.'
"'Very good,' said the librarian, closing the volume of Salmon's Geographical Grammar with his finger at page 35, treating of paradoxes, and remarked: 'Well, Abner, what is it?'