My father knew that I had been in the habit of getting them, and, though he had never known me to tell him a willful lie, nevertheless, he thought that I had carried off his nails. I had not only disobeyed, but had lied about it. It was too aggravated an offense to let pass without punishment. Taking a hickory gun-wiper that stood in a corner of the shop, he gave me a severe whipping, and then said, "Lorain, what did you do with the nails?" Again I denied getting them, and again he whipped me, which was repeated several times. At length "forbearance ceased to be a virtue"--at least, my poor back _felt so_--and I said to him, "Father, if you won't whip me any more, I'll tell you what I did with them." "Well, what did you do with them?" "_I drove them into the grind-stone block._" After having talked to me about the wickedness of telling a lie, he sent me into the house, little thinking that he had been _forcing me to tell one_. The next morning, as I was standing by, a customer entered the shop for some nails. He had called the day before, and finding nobody present, and needing them for immediate use, took all that he could find, weighed them, and returned home. "There, father," said I, "I told you that I did not get your nails!" His heart smote him for the whipping that he had given me, and he wept like a child. The incident, however, had its effect, and not many days passed until I was again placed on trial. Myself and sister Electa attended the district school. Our nearest neighbor, Mr. Moss, had a daughter about the age of my sister, who used to attend the same school; her name was Cordelia. She was a very proud-spirited girl, and improved every opportunity to show off. Her mother bought her a new work-pocket; this she would frequently display, and say to my sister, in a proud, haughty way, "You haint got no new work-pocket bought out of the store." It displeased me considerably to have her assume to be any better than my sister; so I resolved to stop it at the first opportunity.