"He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a tin-kup," said Gilbert Brown.
"Yes," chimed in Willy Snow, "and he asks, 'Is school took up?' just as if it was knitting-work that was on needles."
"How he rolls his r's!" said Peter Grant. "You can't say hor-r-se the way he does! I'll bet the ain't a boy can do it, unless it's a Cahoojack." Peter meant Hoosier.
"Well, I wouldn't be seen saying hoss," returned Horace, with some spirit; "that's Yankee."
"I guess the Yankees are as good as the Cahoojacks: wasn't your mother a Yankee?"
"Yes," faltered Horace; "she was born up north here, in the Frigid Zone; but she isn't so much relation to me as my father is, for her name wasn't Clifford. She wouldn't have been any relation to me if she hadn't married my father!"
One or two of the larger boys laughed at this speech, and Horace, who could never endure ridicule, stole quietly away.
"Now, boys, you behave," said Edward Snow, Willy's older brother; "he's a smart little fellow, and it's mean to go to hurting his feelings. Come back here, Spunky Clifford; let's have a game of hi spy!"
Horace was "as silent as a stone."
"He don't like to be called Spunky Clifford," said Johnny Bell; "do you, Horace?"