dressed like a man, an' yet the smartest person livin' would
never take you for anything but an egg-suckin' dog, this minute.
All the time God ever spent on you was wasted, an' your mother's
had the same luck. I s'pose God's used to having creatures 'at
He's made go wrong, but I pity your mother. Goodness knows a
woman suffers an' works enough over her children, an' then to
fetch a boy to man's estate an' have him, of his own free will
an' accord, be a liar! Young man, truth is the cornerstone o'
the temple o' character. Nobody can put up a good buildin'
without a solid foundation; an' you can't do solid character
buildin' with a lie at the base. Man 'at's a liar ain't fit for
anything! Can't trust him in no sphere or relation o' life; or
in any way, shape, or manner. You passed out your word like a
man, an' like a man I took it an' went off trustin' you, an' you
failed me. Like as not that squirrel story was a lie, too! Have
you got a sick friend who is needin' squirrel broth?"

The hunter shook his head.

"No? That wasn't true either? I'll own you make me curious.
'Ud you mind tellin' me what was your idy in cookin' up that
squirrel story?"

The hunter spoke with an effort. "I suppose I wanted to do
something to make you feel small," he admitted, in a husky voice.

"You wanted to make me feel small," repeated Abram, wonderingly.
"Lord! Lord! Young man, did you ever hear o' a boomerang? It's
a kind o' weapon used in Borneo, er Australy, er some o' them
furrin parts, an' it's so made 'at the heathens can pitch it, an'