"Injured!" I cried angrily; "if he is not killed, he'll be an idiot! Oh! I wonder his mother does not rise from her grave to see how you use him. You're worse than a heathen-treating your own flesh and blood in that manner!" He attempted to touch the child, who, on finding himself with me, sobbed off his terror directly. At the first finger his father laid on him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as if he would go into convulsions.

'Injured!' I cried angrily; 'I wonder his mother does not rise from her grave. You're worse than a heathen - treating your own child in that manner!' He attempted to touch the child, who shrieked louder than ever and struggled.
