“I am going to flog you.”
“What for?”
“For assaulting my boy.”
“Why don’t you let him do it?”
“Septimus, do you wish to chastise Bernard with this whip, and so punish him for his attack upon you?”
There was nothing that Septimus would have liked better, but there was something in Bernard’s steady look that made him think it would not be prudent.
“I guess you’d better flog him, pa,” he said, after a pause.
“Very well, my son, I will.”
Whip in hand, Ezekiel Snowdon advanced upon his refractory pupil. Bernard did not wait meekly to receive the punishment, neither did he care to get into a fight with the teacher. He turned and ran through the back yard and down a lane leading to a tract of marsh which belonged to the Snowdon farm. “He’ll get away, pa!” said Septimus.
“Try to head him off, my son!”