worse
expressions. Father didn't care so much, so that I was a straight boy
and told no lies--except when "jollying" somebody--making fun of them,
that is--or just getting them to believe something because they were
green.

Anyway, I opened the parson's case and saw no papers. It was lined
with a kind of purple velvet--no end swell--and had a gold cross worked
inside, like girls do things so as to waste their time. And inside a
crystal globe there were a lot of round, wafer-looking things that
looked good to eat, and a little silver dish beneath them--all figured
over in raised work. Then, in a little compartment all by itself,
there was a kind of vase or jug, closed with a stopper--all of silver.
Everything smelled good. I was just going to try the little wafery
things, when all of a sudden the Hayfork Parson sat up, looking all
dazed and nohow. He put his hand to his brow.

So I thought "Now for the revelation!" But he only said--

"Joseph, put that down this instant--you have not been confirmed! And
at any rate the Communion in both kinds is the privilege of the
ordained clergy!"

Of course, I thought he had simply gone moony with the whack he had got
when I pulled him down from the dyke, as the Hielant Donalds did the
mailed knights at the Red Harlaw, as I had read in the history book.

But in this I was mistaken.

Mr. Ablethorpe got a bit better when he had assured himself that I had
not touched the contents of his leather case. He even tried to snib it
again, but the catch had been broken in the fall, and the best he could
do was to fasten it up with a bit of twine I lent him out of my pocket.

It is a strange thing about grown-ups who set up for knowing everything
that they never carry things that are really useful in their pockets;
only watches and money, which people try to steal. Now, every boy has
twine and knives, and fish-hooks and marbles, and a catapult, and yet
nobody ever thinks of stopping him with a levelled pistol on the King's
highway, saying, "Your pockets or your life!" They would need to have
regular Pickford vans to carry off the plunder, anyway, if they cleaned
out very many boys. Why, I should think it a shame if I had less than
sixty things in my pockets, all different, and all of the kind that you
never knew when you were going to need them. And me going on for
eighteen, too, and not a real schoolboy any longer, but a man!

Then, after a while, I began to explain to Mr.