“I been wantin' to see the school hyeh an' Miss Hildy. I had to come up to see Aunt Sue Morrow, who's might' nigh gone, so I jes kep' a-walkin' on up hyeh.”
“Miss Hildy hyeh,” said the boy, “was jes about to send fer ye.”
“To sen' fer me?”
“I been drunk agin.”
The mother showed no surprise or displeasure.
“Hit's the fourth time since sorghum time,” the boy went on relentlessly. “I axed Miss Hildy hyeh to whoop me, but she says she don't nuver whoop nobody, so she was jes a-goin' to send fer you to come an' whoop me when you come a-walkin' up the road.”
This was all, and the lad pulled out an old Barlow knife and went to a hickory sapling. The two women watched him silently as he cut off a stout switch and calmly began to trim it. At last the woman turned to the teacher and her voice trembled.
“I don't see Chris thar more'n once or twice a year, an' seems kind o' hard that I got to whoop him.”
The boy turned sharply, and helplessly she took the switch.
“And hit hain't his fault nohow. His stepdaddy got him drunk. He tol' me so when he come home. I went by the still to find Chris an' cuss out ole Jeb Mullins an' the men thar. An' I come on hyeh.”