I was greatly embarrassed and frightened at his conduct.

"Where is it?" he growled.

"I--I--spent it," I said, not thinking what else to say.

A groan escaped through his shut teeth as he reeled across the hall and
took down a short rawhide whip that had been mine to play with. Although he
had never punished me severely, I was now frightened at his anger.

"Don't whip me, father!" I pleaded, as he came staggering toward me with
the whip. "Don't whip me, please!"

I started to make a clean breast of the whole matter, but the cruel lash
cut my sentence short. I had on no coat, only my waist, and I am sure a boy
never received such a whipping as I did.

I did not cry at first. My heart was filled only with pity for my father.
Something lay so heavy in my breast that it seemed to fill up my throat and
choke me. I shut my teeth tightly together, and tried to endure the hurt,
but the biting lash cut deeper and deeper until I could stand it no longer.
Then my spirit broke, and I begged him to stop. This seemed only to anger
him the more, if such a thing could be. I cried for mercy, and called for
mother, who was out at one of the neighbor's. Had she been at home, I am
sure she would have interceded for me. But he kept on and on, his face as
white as the wall. I could feel something wet running down my back, and my
face was slippery with blood, when I put up my hand to protect it. I
thought I should die; everything began to go round and round. The strokes
did not hurt any longer; I could not feel them now. The hall suddenly grew