"Not another chance," was the stern answer. "Lay off your coats."

They began to peel their coats. Big, strapping, husky fellows nudging
one another and grinning at their fourteen-year-old schoolmaster. It was
no use to protest.

They knew they deserved it. A whipping was one of the minor misfortunes
of life. Its application was universal. No other method of discipline
had yet been dreamed by the advanced thinkers and rulers of the world.
"Spare the rod and spoil the child" was accepted as the Word of God and
only a fool could doubt it. The rod was the emblem of authority for
child, pupil, apprentice and soldier. The negro slave as a workman got
less of it than any other class. It was the rule of a Southern master
never to use the rod on a slave except for crime if it could be avoided.
To flog one for laziness was the exception, not the rule.

The old Virginia gentleman prided himself particularly on the tenderness
and care with which he guarded the life of his servants. If the weather
was cold and his men exposed, he waited to see that they had dry clothes
and a warm drink before they went to bed. He never failed to remember
that his white skin could endure more than their sunburned dark ones.

The young school-teacher had no scruples on applying the rod. He
selected his switches with care, and tested their strength and
flexibility while he gave the bunch a piece of his mind.

"What do you think I'm coming down here every night for, anyhow?" he
stormed.

"Lordy, Marse Rooney," Sam pleaded, "doan we all pay you fur our