He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher. “What does he teach you?” I asked.

“Naught,” said he, “but to keep out of his gait. Daddy cannot bide me, because I swear at him.”

“Ah! and the devil teaches you to swear at daddy?” I observed.

“Ay⁠—nay,” he drawled.

“Who, then?”

“Heathcliff.”

I asked if he liked Mr. Heathcliff.

“Ay!” he answered again.