humiliation put upon my mother. So stepping out to the head of the
stairs, I shouted down in my shrillest treble:

"Your Betsy Beauty is a wicked devil, and I wouldn't trust but she'll
burn in hell!"

Never, to the last hour of my life, shall I forget the effect of that
pronouncement. One moment Aunt Bridget stood speechless in the middle of
the stairs, as if all breath had been broken out of her. Then, ghastly
white and without a word, she came flying up at me, and, before I could
recover my usual refuge, she caught me, slapped me on the cheek and
boxed both my ears.

I do not remember if I cried, but I know my mother did, and that in the
midst of the general tumult my father came out of his room and demanded
in a loud voice, which seemed to shake the whole house, to be told what
was going on.

Aunt Bridget told him, with various embellishments, which my mother did
not attempt to correct, and then, knowing she was in the wrong, she
began to wipe her eyes with her wet handkerchief, and to say she could
not live any longer where a child was encouraged to insult her.

"I have to leave this house--I have to leave it to-morrow," she said.

"You don't have to do no such thing," cried my father. "But I'm just
crazy to see if a man can't be captain in his own claim. These children
must go to school. They must all go--the darned lot of 'em."