"For fear I'll break er lose it an' git licked," he answered.

We went and sat down on the hay together, and I showed him the pennies I
had saved and he showed me where his father had cut his leg that morning
with a blue beech rod.

"Don't you ever git licked?" he asked.

"No," I answered.

"I guess that's because you ain't got any father," he answered. "I wish
I hadn't. There's nobody so mean as a father. Mine makes me work every
day an' never gives me a penny an' licks me whenever I do anything that
I want to. I've made up my mind to run away from home."

After a moment of silence he exclaimed:

"Gosh! It's awful lonesome here! Gee whittaker! this is the worst place
I ever saw!"

I tried to think of something that I could say for it.

"We have got a new corn sheller," I said, rather timidly.

"I don't care about your corn shellers," he answered with a look of
scorn.

He took a little yellow paper-covered book from his pocket and began to
read to himself.