"Let them do the training responded his father, peacefully
puffing out the words with his pipe between his lips. "Some of
'em's mild and gentle in discipline, like Parson Boone's wife or
Mis' Timothy Grant, and others is strict and firm like your
mother and Mis' Abel Day. If you happen to git the first kind,
why, do as they tell you, and thank the Lord 't ain't any worse.
If you git the second kind, jest let 'em put the blinders on you
and trot as straight as you know how, without shying nor kickin'
over the traces, nor bolting 'cause they've got control o' the
bit and 't ain't no use fightin' ag'in' their superior
strength.--So fur as you can judge, in the early stages o' the
game, my son,--which ain't very fur,--which kind have you picked
out?"
Cephas whittled on for some moments without a word, but finally,
with a sigh drawn from the very toes of his boots, he responded
gloomily,--
"She's awful spunky, the girl is, anybody can see that; but she's
a young thing, and I thought bein' married would kind o' tame her
down!"
"You can see how much marriage has tamed your mother down,"
observed Uncle Bart dispassionately; "howsomever, though your
mother can't be called tame, she's got her good p'ints, for she's
always to be counted on.
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