“Please, Seth!”
I wouldn’t speak.
“Say, father will give me a licking, and if you’ll only speak to your father—say, Seth! Seth!”
I was half-way to the house.
His voice ought to have made anybody turn back, but I wouldn’t stop. He hadn’t spoken to me for over six months and his father was to blame, and now he spoke because he was going to get a licking. I didn’t think any boy would be such a coward. It didn’t seem like Bub.
Once I felt like running over to his house—I had seen him sneak back—then I was mad at myself for wanting to go there.
What wouldn’t I have given afterwards if I had gone?
After supper, as father and I were passing the Ridlets’, we heard Bub’s howls. They came from the barn.
Father had been almost as fond of Bub as of me. When he heard the cries, he stopped short. For a minute we didn’t hear any more, only Mr. Ridlet scolding hot and heavy, and Bub trying to put in a word or two.
He was a dreadful quick-tempered man, and, when angry, hardly knew what he did.