"How much did you earn?" he growled, watching me closely to see if I told the truth.
"Five dollars a week," I said timidly, feeling all the time that he was exacting from me a confession that I wished, on his account, to keep secret.
"Five dollars a week! Where is the money? Show me the money!" he persisted incredulously.
"I cannot, father. I do not have it."
I was greatly embarrassed and frightened at his conduct.
"Where is it?" he growled.
"I—I—spent it," I said, not thinking what else to say.
A groan escaped through his shut teeth as he reeled across the hall and took down a short rawhide whip that had been mine to play with. Although he had never punished me severely, I was now frightened at his anger.
"Don't whip me, father!" I pleaded, as he came staggering toward me with the whip. "Don't whip me, please!"
I started to make a clean breast of the whole matter, but the cruel lash cut my sentence short. I had on no coat, only my waist, and I am sure a boy never received such a whipping as I did.