"I rather you would," was her dry retort. "Out with it."

"It's mine, Aunt Hepsy, and you wouldn't care to see it."

"How many more times am I to say out with it?" she said angrily.
"I'll let you feel the weight of my hand if you don't look sharp."

"It's mine, Aunt Hepsy. I won't let you see it," he said doggedly.

Miss Hepsy's face grew very red, and she flung her knitting on the
rug and strode up to him. "Give me that paper."

"Well, there 'tis; I hope you like it. I wish I'd made it uglier,"
cried he angrily, and flung the paper on the table.

Aunt Hepsy smoothed it out very deliberately, and held it up to the
light. It was a picture of herself, cleverly done, but highly
exaggerated, and the word _Scold_ printed beneath it. Slowly the red
faded from her face and was replaced by a kind of purple hue. She
lifted her hand and brought it with full force on Tom's cheek. He
sprang to his feet quivering with rage, and pain, and humiliation.
His fierce temper was up, and Lucy trembled for what was to follow.
"Next time you make a fool o' me, boy," said Aunt Hepsy with a slow
smile, "perhaps ye'll get summat ye'll like even less than that."

Then the boy's anger found vent in words. "If you weren't a woman I'd
knock you down. I hate you, and I wish I'd died before I came to this
horrid place. It's worse than being a beggar living with such people.
You touch me again, and I'll give it you though you are a woman."