It was my nature. They didn't understand--kept
on ding-donging in my ears. Always scrubbing, scouring--you might have
eaten your dinner off the floor; always singing psalms--praying--
scolding. Couldn't bear it; ran away at fifteen, and have never heard a
word from home since. What happened? I came here, worked, saved, bought
land, cattle; married a wife, lived as I liked to live--am happy. There's
my wife--mother of six children--you have seen her yourself, a woman for
a man to be proud of. No ding-donging, black looks, scouring from Monday
to Saturday--you couldn't eat your dinner off my kitchen floor. There are
my children, six of 'em, all told, boys and girls, healthy, dirty as
they like to be, happy as the day's long; and here am I, John
Carrickfergus--Don Juan all the country over, my surname no native can
pronounce--respected, feared, loved; a man his neighbour can rely on to
do him a good turn; one who never hesitates about putting a bullet in any
vulture, wild cat, or assassin that crosses his path. Now you know all."
"An extraordinary history," I said, "but I suppose you teach your
children something?"
"Teach 'em nothing," he returned, with emphasis. "All we think about
in the old country are books, cleanliness, clothes; what's good for
soul, brain, stomach; and we make 'em miserable. Liberty for
everyone--that's my rule.
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