I shook my head.

"Never had no name. They killed folks there. I've seem 'm more 'n
once."

"This time he agrees with the majority of the authorities," announced the
missionary with huge satisfaction. "The hill is Golgotha, the Place of
Skulls, or, as you please, so named because it resembles a skull. Notice
the resemblance. That is where they crucified--" He broke off and
turned to me. "Whom did they crucify there, young scholar? Tell us what
else you see."

Oh, I saw--my father reported that my eyes were bulging; but I shook my
head stubbornly and said:

"I ain't a-goin' to tell you because you're laughin' at me. I seen lots
an' lots of men killed there. They nailed 'em up, an' it took a long
time. I seen--but I ain't a-goin' to tell. I don't tell lies. You ask
dad an' ma if I tell lies. He'd whale the stuffin' out of me if I did.
Ask 'm."

And thereat not another word could the missionary get from me, even
though he baited me with more photographs that sent my head whirling with
a rush of memory-pictures and that urged and tickled my tongue with
spates of speech which I sullenly resisted and overcame.

"He will certainly make a good Bible scholar," the missionary told father
and mother after I had kissed them good-night and departed for bed. "Or
else, with that imagination, he'll become a successful fiction-writer."