"No, nor you never will.

I've been six myself.

Lord knows when it was, though!" "But, sir, I don't see any such trout, and no such haunts for snipe." "Do you mean to insult me ?" cried the Colonel, rather suddenly.

"This is what we are come to now.

Here's a brat of six begins taking notes against his own father; and he improves on the Scotch poet--he doesn't print 'em.
No, he accumulates them cannily until he is twenty, but never says a word.