with such hifalut'n foolishness, hey?--who told you you could?” “The widow.  She told me.” “The widow, hey?--and who told the widow she could put in her shovel about a thing that ain't none of her business?” “Nobody never told her.” “Well, I'll learn her how to meddle.  And looky here--you drop that school, you hear?  I'll learn people to bring up a boy to put on airs over his own father and let on to be better'n what _he_ is.  You lemme catch you fooling around that school again, you hear?  Your mother couldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died.  None of the family couldn't before _they_ died.  I can't; and here you're a-swelling yourself up like this.  I ain't the man to stand it--you hear? Say, lemme hear you read.” I took up a book and begun something about General Washington and the wars. When I'd read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack with his hand and knocked it across the house.  He says: “It's so.  You can do it.  I had my doubts when you told me.  Now looky here; you stop that putting on frills.  I won't have it.  I'll lay for you, my smarty; and if I catch you about that school I'll tan you good. First you know you'll get religion, too.  I never see such a son.” He took up a little blue and yaller picture of some cows and a boy, and says: “What's this?” “It's something they give me for learning my lessons good.” He tore it up, and says: “I'll give you something better--I'll give you a cowhide.” He set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says: “_Ain't_ you a sweet-scented dandy, though?  A bed; and bedclothes; and a look'n'-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floor--and your own father got to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard.  I never see such a son.  I bet I'll take some o' these frills out o' you before I'm done with you. Why, there ain't no end to your airs--they say you're rich.  Hey?--how's that?” “They lie--that's how.” “Looky here--mind how you talk to me; I'm a-standing about