ne dozen eggs a
month or one pullet every two months. And I don't even ask you where you
got the eggs or the pullet."

"Marse Rooney!" protested Sam. "Yer know we gets 'em outen our own yards
er buys 'em from de servants."

"I hope you do. Though my mother says she don't know how we eat so many
chickens and eggs at the house. Anyhow I'm not here because I'm going to
get rich on the tuition you pay me. I'm not here for my health. I'm here
from a sense of duty to you boys--"

"Yassah, we know dat, sah!"

"Give us annuder chance an' we sho' study dem lessons--"

"I gave you another chance the last time. I'll try a little hickory tea
this time."

He began at the end of the line and belabored each one faithfully. They
shouted in mockery and roared with laughter, scampered over the room and
dodged behind chairs and tables.

Phil fairly split his sides laughing.

When the fun was over, they drew close to their teacher and promised
faithfully to have every word of the next lesson. They nudged each other
and whispered their jokes about the beating.

"Must er bin er flea bitin' me!"

"I felt sumfin. Don't 'zactly know what it wuz. Mebbe a chigger!"

"Must er been a flea. Hit bit me, too!"

Sam tried to redeem himself for failing on his lessons in arithmetic.
He had long ago learned to read and write and had asked for a course in
history. The young teacher had given him a copy of _Gulliver's Travels_.

"Look a here, Marse Rooney, I been a readin' dat book yer gimme--"

"Well, that's good."

"Yer say dat book's history?"

"Well, it's what we call fiction, but I think fiction's the very best
history we can read. It may not have happened just that way but it's
true all the same."

"Well, ef hit nebber happened, I dunno 'bout dat," Sam objected. "I been
suspicionin' fer a long time dat some o' dem things that Gulliver say
nebber happen nohow."

"You read it," the teacher ordered.

"Yassah, I sho gwine ter read it, happen er no happen. Glory be ter God.
Just 'cause yer tells me, sah!"

CHAPTER VI

The next morning found Phil walking again between the white, clean rows
of the quarter houses. He was always finding something to interest him.
Every yard had its gorgeous red autumn flowers. Some of them had
roses in bloom. The walks from the gate to the door were edged with
white-washed bricks or conch shells. The conch shells were souvenirs of
summer outings at the seashore.

In the corner of the back ya