“That's the very reason I think him a rascal. His praying seems to me very unnatural. Here, he's a perfect stranger in the place, yet he never shows any curiosity to see the people. He never once looks around him. He walks to the church with his eye cast upon the ground, and sometimes he squints to this side and sometimes to that, but he seems to do it slyly, and seems to take pains that nobody should see him doing, it. All this might answer for an old man, who--believes that everything is vanity--as, indeed, everything must seem to old people; but to a young fellow, full of blood, who eats well, drinks well, sleeps well, and should naturally have a hankering after a young girl, all this is against nature. Now, what's against nature is wrong, and there's wrong at the bottom of it. Youth is the time to laugh, dance, sing, play on the violin, and always have a sweetheart when it can find one. If you can't get a beauty take a brown; and if Mary won't smile, Susan will. But always have a sweetheart; always be ready for fun and frolic; that's the way for the young, and when they don't take these ways, it's unnatural--there's something wrong about it, and I'm suspicious of THAT person. Now, I just have this notion of the young stranger. He's after no good. I reckon he's like a hundred others; too lazy to go to work, he goes to preaching, and learns in the first sermon to beg hard for the missionaries. I'll lick him, Bill, to a certainty, if he gives me the littlest end of an opportunity.” “Pshaw, Ned, don't think of such a thing. You are quite too fond of licking people.” “Deuse a bit. It does 'em good. Look you, this chap is monstrous like Joe Richards. I'll have to lick him on that account.” “You're mad, Ned; talk of whipping a preacher.” “He's no preacher yet,” said the other, “but if I lick him he may become one.” “No matter, he's never offended you.” “Ay, but he will. I see it in the fellow's looks. I never was mistaken in a fellow's looks in all my life.” “Wait till he does offend you then.” “Well, I'm willing to do that, for I know the time will come. I'm always sure, when I first see a man, to know whether I'll have to flog him or not. There's a something that tells me so. Isn't that very singular, Bill?” “No! you form a prejudice against a man, fancy that you ought to whip him, and then never rest till you've done so. You'll find your match some day.” “What! you think some other chap will fancy he ought to whip me? Well--maybe so. But this ain't the fellow to do that.” “He's a stout man, and I reckon strong. Besides, Ned, he's very handsome.”