face in the cradle, when there was company; and if the
visitors happened to be ladies, I turned red in the cheeks, and purple
about the eyes, to such an alarming degree as could not fail of exciting
wonder and awe in the heart of the most indifferent beholder!

I remember that, when a child of four or five years, I used to take
refuge behind the great eight-day clock whenever my mother had callers;
and once I came near being frozen to death in the refrigerator, where I
had ensconced myself on the appearance of a couple of lady visitors.

Throughout my boyhood it was the same, only decidedly more so. My _debut_
at school was like an entrance into the ancient halls of torture.

The austere schoolmaster, with his dread insignia of birchen rod,
steel-bowed spectacles, and swallow-tailed coat, was bad enough; the
grinning, mischief-loving, and at times, belligerent, boys were worse.
But the girls! Heavens! I feared them more than any suspected criminal
of old did the Terrible Council of Ten! All on earth they seemed to find
to do was to giggle at me! Of course, I was the object of their sport;
for they peeped at me over the tops of their books, from behind their
pocket-handkerchiefs, through the interstices of their curls--and made
me hopelessly wretched by dubbing me "Apron-string."

The third day of my attendance at school was stormy, and my home being
at some distance, I was obliged to remain, with most of the others,
through the noon intermission. The little girls got to playing at pawns.
I retreated to a corner near the door, and stood a silent and not
unterrified spectator.

By-and-by, a cherry-lipped little girl had to pay a forfeit, and one of
her schoolmates pronounced the sentence, in a loud voice:

"Kiss Apron-string Sunderland!"

That meant me. There was a wild scream of laughter, in which all joined,
and I took ingloriously to flight, with little Cherry-lips close at my
heels. I strained every nerve and sinew--it was a matter of life and
death to me--and I have no doubt but I should have won the race in fine
style, if I had not, unfortunately, in my blind haste, run against Miss
Patty Hanson, the primest and worst tempered spinster in Hallswell.

My _momentum_ was such that I knocked Miss Patty from _terra firma_, very
much as the successful ball knocks down the nine-pins; and the _debris_
of the wreck--consisting of a fractured umbrella, a torn calico gown, and
a fearfully dislocated bonnet--Miss Hanson