The object opened its eyes very wide, and pursed its mouth very tight; then it relaxed, grinned a little with an air of uncertainty, and was about to laugh, but checked itself, and, with a look of perplexity, said—
“Eh?”
“Ay, my boy,” resumed the mother, “just you try the boiling-over plan next time. When you feel inclined to fight, and know, or think, that you shouldn’t, just stand quite still, and look hard at the ground—mind, don’t look at the boy you want to fight with, but at the ground—and begin to count one, two, three, four, and so on, and I’m quite sure that when you’ve counted fifty the fire will be out. Now, will you try, my son?”
“Mother,” replied Two-feet-ten earnestly (and becoming at least two feet eleven while he spoke), “I’ll try!”
This ended the conversation at that time, and we beg leave to apologise to our reader for having given it in such full detail, but we think it necessary to the forming of a just appreciation of our hero and his mother, as it shows one phase of their characters better than could have been accomplished by a laboured description.
Before March Marston had attained to the age of sixteen he had read aloud to his mother—not once, but several times—the “Vicar of Wakefield,” “Robinson Crusoe,” the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” and “Tales of a Grandfather,” “Aesop’s Fables,” and a variety of tales and stories and histories of lesser note—all of which he stored up in a good memory, and gave forth in piecemeal to his unlettered companions as opportunity offered. Better than all this, he had many and many a time read his Bible through, and was familiar with all its leading heroes and histories and anecdotes.
Thus, it will be seen that March Marston was quite a learned youth for a backwoodsman, besides being a hero and a “madman.”