Dad laughed again, and I laughed this time, because that was really funny. If Dad was to bring home a hippopotamus to dinner Mother would be glad of it—just because Dad brought him. I’ve took notice that Mother always thought that whatever Dad did was just right, and, now that I come to think it over, she thought so because everything that Dad did _was_ just right. Mother shook hands with Catty just as if nothing out of the ordinary run was happening at all, and acted just as she would act if Catty had been the Presbyterian minister or president of the bank, or anybody else. Then Catty and me washed up and came down to dinner, and Dad talked a lot until pretty soon he got Catty to talking some, and what he said was mighty interesting to me—all about walking around the country, and what they saw, and how they lived. I kept my eye on him jest to find out what kind of table manners he had, but I couldn’t find out, because he kept _his_ eyes on my mother all the time, and never did a thing until he saw her do it first, and then did it just like she did. I saw Dad grin to himself a couple of times. “Mr. Moore,” said Catty, serious as all-git-out, “I wonder kin I ask you a piece of advice?” “Fire ahead, Catty.” “Well, I’m wonderin’ if I ought to lick that kid before Dad and me goes away.” “What kid?” “Banty Gage.” Dad kept his face very straight, but I knew by the looks of him that he wanted to laugh. “What has Banty done to you?” “_He_ didn’t do anythin’—but his Ma did. I can’t lick his Ma, because fellers don’t pick fights with wimmin, but it seems as if I ought to lick _somebody_, and, her bein’ his Ma, he comes closest to bein’ the right person.” “You feel like fighting, eh? Well, I don’t blame you.... You said before you and your father went away. Are you going away?” “When I git home I’m goin’ to tell Dad it’s time to move on.” “And he’ll go?” “’Course. Dad’s always willin’ to go.” “And you’re going because of what Mrs. Gage said?” Catty nodded. “Um!...” said Dad. “Looks kind of like running away, doesn’t it? As if you had been scared out?” “Eh? Scared out?” Catty’s lips came together thin again and his eyes got glittery. “I don’t allow nobody to say I’m scared, Mr. Moore.” Dad nodded and says: “That’s right. But you can’t stop them from thinking it. Not by fighting with your fists, anyhow. There’s only one way to keep folks from _thinking_ you’re afraid of a thing, and that is to show them you aren’t.” Catty looked at Dad a long time and didn’t say a word, but you could see he was trying to study out what Dad meant. “Aren’t you ever kind of lonesome when you’re walking about the country—and never settling down any place to get acquainted with folks?” asked Dad. “Not when I’m with my Dad,” said Catty, and the way he said it you almost got the idea he was proud of his father. “Good boy!... But don’t you ever want to have other boys to play with, and go to school, maybe, and know folks, and have a chum like most boys have?”