As to the farmer's son, it is said that thenceforward he went home
from market by the high-road, and spoke the truth straight out, and
was more careful of his company.
"I WON'T."
"Don't Care"--so they say--fell into a goose-pond; and "I won't" is
apt to come to no better an end. At least, my grandmother tells me
that was how the Miller had to quit his native town, and leave the tip
of his nose behind him.
It all came of his being allowed to say "I won't" when he was quite a
little boy. His mother thought he looked pretty when he was pouting,
and that wilfulness gave him an air which distinguished him from other
people's children. And when she found out that his lower lip was
becoming so big that it spoilt his beauty, and that his wilfulness
gained his way twice and stood in his way eight times out of ten, it
was too late to alter him.
Then she said, "Dearest Abinadab, do be more obliging!"
And he replied (as she had taught him), "I won't."
He always took what he could get, and would neither give nor give up
to other people. This, he thought, was the way to get more out of life
than one's neighbours.
Amongst other things, he made a point of taking the middle of the
footpath.
"Will you allow me to pass you, sir?--I am in a hurry," said a voice
behind him one day.
"I won't," said Abinadab; on which a poor washerwoman, with her
basket, scrambled down into the road, and Abinadab chuckled.
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