history, Henery Holmes, you are the worst."

Henry retorted with an angry protest against the indictment, declaring
that he was studying history when Bolum was being nourished on "soft
food." That was true. Isaac admitted it frankly. He wasn't his
mother's keeper, that he could regulate his own birthday. Had that
been in his power he would certainly have set it a half century earlier
or later to avoid being constantly annoyed by the "onreasonablest
argeyments" Six Stars had ever heard. This made old Holmes smile
softly, and he turned and winked at me. The one thing he had ever been
thankful for, he said, was that his life had fallen with that of Isaac
Bolum. Whenever he done wrong; whenever the consciousness of sin was
upon him and he needed the chastisin' rod, he just went to the store
and set and listened to Ike. To this Isaac retorted that it was a
wonder the rod had not worn out long ago; it was pleasing to know, at
least, that he was made of tough old hickory. Henry admitted this to
be a "good 'un" on him--an unusual one, considering the source--but
that did not settle the exact date of the arrival of Piney Martin's
spring-bed.

It was time for me to protest that it mattered little whether the event
occurred on July sixth or a week later, since what really interested me
was the question as to who was the owner of the third of these
luxuries. Isaac's serious, self-conscious look answered me, but I
pressed the inquiry to give him an opportunity to sing the praises of
this newest of his household gods. Mr. Bolum's pleasure was evident.
Once launched into an account of the comfort of springs as compared to
a straw-tick on ropes, he would have monopolized our attention to the
end of the journey, but the sagacious Henry blocked him rudely by a tug
at the reins which almost threw the lemon-colored mules on their