"Yes, sir," said Billy.
"And left you to see to things," continued the man.
"Yes, sir," replied the boy, gazing through the window at the flicker as it hitched down the gate-post and finally dropped into the grass with a shrill chirp.
"And you didn't water them pigs!"
"O-o-o! Oh, sir! Geeroody! O me! ouch! lawsy! lawsy! mercy me!"
The slender scion of an apple tree, in the hand of Mr. Coulter, rose and fell, cutting the air like a rapier, and up from the jacket of the lad, like incense from an altar, rose a cloud of dust mingled with the nap of jeans. Down in the young clover of the meadow the larks and sparrows sang cheerily; the gnats and flies danced up and down in the sunshine, the fresh soft young leaves of the vines rustled like satin, and all was merry indeed!
Billy's eyes were turned upward to the face of his father in appealing agony; but still the switch, with a sharp hiss, cut the air, falling steadily and mercilessly on his shoulders.
All along the green banks of the river the willows shook their shining fingers at the lifting fog, and the voices of children going by to the distant school smote the sweet May wind.
"Whippee! Whippee-tippee-tee!" sang the cardinal bird.
"O pap! ouch! O-o-o! I'll not forget to water the pigs no more!"