the pitilessness
of any dissenting spirit of reform, who will pour out truths, whether
of good or evil, to the benefit or injury of mankind, who will force
strong meat as well as milk on babies and sucklings, he kept on,
while the boy stood staring, shrinking a little, yet with young eyes
kindling, from the bitter frenzy of the other.

"It's so," said Ozias Lamb. "You'll find it out for yourself, in
the hard run you've got to hoe, without any help, but it's just
as well for you to know it beforehand. You won't get bit so
hard--forewarned's forearmed. Snakes have their poison-bags, an' bees
have their stings; there ain't an animal that don't have horns or
claws or teeth to use if they get in a hard place. Them that don't
have weapons have wings, like birds. If they can't fight, they can
fly away from the battle. But human beings that are good, and meek,
and poor, and hard pushed, they hain't got any claws or any wings;
though if they had 'twouldn't be right to use 'em to fight or get
away, so the parsons say. They 'ain't got any natural weapons.
Providence 'ain't looked out for them. All they can do, as far as I
can see, is to steal some of the devil's own weapons to fight him
with."

It was well that Jerome could not understand the half of his uncle's
harangue, and got, indeed, only a general impression of the unjust
helplessness of a meek and righteous man in the hands of adverse
fate, compared with horned and clawed animals, and Ozias's system of
defence did not commend itself to his understanding. He did not for a
moment imagine that his uncle advised him to lie and steal to better
his fortunes, and, indeed, nothing was further from the case. Ozias
Lamb's own precepts never went into practice. He was scrupulously
honest, and his word was as good as a bond. However, although Ozias
had never told a lie in his life, he had perpetrated many subtleties
of the truth. He was wily and secretive. "A man ain't a liar because
he don't tell all he knows," he said.

When asking for more shoes from Cyrus Robinson, he had said nothing
about his wife's working upon them, but he knew that was the
inference, and he did not contradict it. He forbade Belinda to
mention the matter in one way or another. "The sarpent has got to
feed the widows an' the orphans," he said, "an' that's a good reason
for bein' a sarpent."

As Ann and Elmira did most of their work on the shoes during the day,
Jerome fell into the habit of doing his part,