“Who is Barnard?”
“He is the oyster-eyed, malignant old liar and skinflint who lives in that red house about a mile below here.”
“You seem to like him.”
“I hate him.”
“What has he done to you?”
“Nothing; but he bullies his wife, starves his cattle, and cheats his neighbors. Even as a small boy I knew enough to dislike him, and whenever he went by the house I used to stone him.”
“What a pleasant little neighbor you must have been!”
Amos tried to smile, but his anger was evidently too serious a matter to be treated with disrespect. Mr. Cabot, after regarding for a moment the wrathful eyes that still followed the bull, continued:
“You are more than half barbarian, my war-like farmer. Must you do physical damage to everyone you dislike?”
“No, sir; but as a rule I should like to. As for loving your enemies—count me out. I love my friends. The man who pretends to love his enemies is either a hypocrite or a poor hater.”