only to be plunged down again and again. As the time approached for
this terrible bathing, I used to hide in the flowers and had a fine
garden surrounded by an iron fence, through the bars of which, when I
thought no one saw me, I oftentimes snatched a flower and took to my
heels. One day Peter discovered me in this mischief, dashed out into
the street and caught me. I screamed that I wouldna steal any more if
he would let me go. He didn't say anything but just dragged me along
to the stable where he kept the wild pony, pushed me in right back of
its heels, and shut the door. I was screaming, of course, but as soon
as I was imprisoned the fear of being kicked quenched all noise. I
hardly dared breathe. My only hope was in motionless silence. Imagine
the agony I endured! I did not steal any more of his flowers. He was a
good hard judge of boy nature.

I was in Peter's hands some time before this, when I was about two and
a half years old. The servant girl bathed us small folk before putting
us to bed. The smarting soapy scrubbings of the Saturday nights in
preparation for the Sabbath were particularly severe, and we all
dreaded them. My sister Sarah, the next older than me, wanted the
long-legged stool I was sitting on awaiting my turn, so she just
tipped me off. My chin struck on the edge of the bath-tub, and, as I
was talking at the time, my tongue happened to be in the way of my
teeth when they were closed by the blow, and a deep gash was cut on
the side of it, which bled profusely. Mother came running at the noise
I made, wrapped me up, put me in the servant girl's arms and told her
to run with me through the garden and out by a back way to Peter
Lawson to have something done to stop the bleeding. He simply pushed a
wad of cotton into my mouth after soaking it in some brown astringent
stuff, and told me to be sure to keep my mouth shut and all would soon
be well. Mother put me to bed, calmed my fears, and told me to lie