Only three mornings before Zeb had entered the kitchen, which served as dining room as well, and had partaken of his breakfast standing, and at the midday meal he still preferred an upright position instead of the one adopted by the other members of his family. To be accurate and truthful, it was a rare thing for Zeb to be able to sit down with any comfort, for his interviews with his father were very frequent and generally of a very painful nature. He entered the kitchen looking more defiant than his brothers or sister had ever seen him. Zeke did not speak. He took off his coat and rolled up his homespun linen shirt sleeves. Then he reached out and got the beechen stick. Zebedee waited. He knew that there was a certain formula to be gone through. His father never thrashed him while angry; he always catechised him, then waited a few minutes before plying the stick or the whip. "Zeb, did you sort those potatoes?" "No." "Did you learn that verse from the Bible the elder told you to commit to memory?" "No." "Playing all day?" "Yes." "Then I must use the rod, or my son will be ruined." Everything had been calm up to that point. The other members of the family had gone out. Zeb was alone with his father. "Come here." "What for?" "Come here, I say, and place yourself across my knee." "Not this time, dad." If Zebedee had drawn a pistol and shot at his father that worthy could not have been more astonished. He almost dropped the stick. "What do you mean?" "Just what I say. You are never going to beat me again." "What?" "Just what I say, dad. I'm going to make a bargain with you. You swear that you will never hit me again and I'll make you a rich man." Ezekiel dropped the stick. He opened his ponderous jaws and looked at his eldest son much as he might at a wild beast. "You--what?" "Just what I say, dad. Little pitchers have big ears. Well, the big ears have heard that you hate Ethan Allen." "Well?" "You would get the reward if you could." "Well?" "Swear that you will never hit me again----" "I will not. Come here, you rapscalion, and I'll teach you to make a laughingstock of me." Zeb saw his father pick up the stick again, and he got into the corner, and picking up a chair, held it so that his father could not strike him. "See here, father," he said, very quietly, "you are stronger than I am. You have a right to whip me, and I perhaps deserve it; that isn't saying much, but it's enough. Now I want to tell you that if you strike me I'll leave you this very night, and either join the Green Mountain Boys, or I'll get the reward and go to York and never see you again." "What has come over you?" "Nothing, only I see a way to make some money for you, or myself, and I'll give it to you if you swear never to strike me again." "It's a bargain." "Honor bright?" "Yes, honor bright." "All right, father. Pull down your sleeves and come with me where no one can hear what I have to say."