An’ ez to secular lessons, he ain’t got no respec’ for ’em whatsoever. F’ instance, when the teacher learned him thet the world was round, why he up an’ told him _’t warn’t so_, less’n we was on the inside an’ it was blue-lined, which of co’se teacher he insisted thet we was _on the outside_, walkin’ over it, all feet todes the center—a thing I’ve always thought myself was mo’ easy said than proved. Well, sir, Sonny didn’t hesitate to deny it, an’ of co’se teacher he commenced by givin’ him a check—which is a bad mark—for conterdictin’. An’ then Sonny he ’lowed thet he didn’t conterdic’ to _be_ a-conterdictin’, but he _knowed_ ’t warn’t so. He had walked the whole len’th o’ the road ’twix’ the farm an’ the school-house, an’ they warn’t _no bulge in it_; an’ besides, he hadn’t never saw over the edges of it. An’ with that teacher he give him another check for speakin’ out o’ turn. An’ then Sonny, says he, “Ef a man was tall enough he could see around the edges, couldn’t he?” “No,” says the teacher; “a man couldn’t grow that tall,” says he; “he’d be deformed.” An’ Sonny, why, he spoke up again, an’ says he, “But I’m thess a-sayin’ _ef_,” says he. “An’ teacher,” says he, “we ain’t a-studyin’ _efs_; we’re studyin’ geoger’phy.” And then Sonny they say he kep’ still a minute, an’ then he says, says he, “Oh, maybe he couldn’t see over the edges, teacher, ’cause ef he was tall enough his head might reach up into the flo’ o’ heaven.” And with that teacher he give him another check, an’ told him not to dare to mix up geoger’phy an’ religion, which was a sackerlege to both studies; an’ with that Sonny gethered up his books an’ set out to another school. I think myself it ’u’d be thess ez well ef Sonny wasn’t quite so quick to conterdic’; but it’s thess his way of holdin’ his p’int. Why, one day he faced one o’ the teachers down thet two an’ two didn’t _haf_ to make _fo’_, wh’er or no. This seemed to tickle the teacher mightily, an’ so he laughed an’ told him he was goin’ to give him rope enough to hang hisself now, an’ then he dared him to show him any two an’ two thet didn’t make fo’, and Sonny says, says he, “Heap o’ two an’ twos don’t make four, ’cause they’re kep’ sep’rate,” says he. “An’ then,” says he, “I don’t want my two billy-goats harnessed up with nobody else’s two billys to make fo’ billys.” “But,” says the teacher, “suppose I _was_ to harness up yo’ two goats with Tom Deems’s two, there’d be fo’ goats, I reckon, whether you wanted ’em there or not.” “No they wouldn’t,” says Sonny. “They wouldn’t be but two. ’T wouldn’t take my team more ’n half a minute to butt the life out o’ Tom’s team.”