allon of alcohol, and
Porky Jim poured it in. Then this man said to Porky Jim, "Charge it,
please," and Porky Jim says: "Why, you ain't got a cent, and you never
pay anybody." So he took up the jug and poured out what he had poured in
and told the man to take the jug and go. And he did and had, of course,
a half gallon all mixed. John laughed terribly at his own story--the
women didn't laugh, nor grandpa. My uncle did, and I that's all.

Then Aunt Caroline helped grandma get supper and we had a lot of fun and
they drove home.

The next day grandpa started early for Petersburg, so as to be back by
three o'clock for something. And my uncle and me was getting ready
because we was goin' to drive to Blue Lake that night, pitch the camp,
and fish while it was quiet. So we had to grease the wagon and do a lot
of things. And grandpa was to bring Mitch.

Three o'clock looked like it never would come. But at last about three I
saw the white horses on the far hill, and then I saw them pulling hard
and slow up the near hill and I could see grandpa now but couldn't see
Mitch; and I watched and looked. Then I thought he was hid under the
seat; or had dropped off to walk and come in later and fool me.

Grandpa drove in the lot. His face was set. He looked serious. He didn't
look at me. He held the lines and looked straight ahead. I climbed on
the carriage and says, "Where's Mitch?" Just then my uncle came up to
unhitch the horses. My grandpa threw him the lines and grandpa got out
of the carriage. Then he said, speaking really to my uncle and not to
me:

"Mitchie Miller was killed this afternoon on the railroad."

"Grandpa!" I cried. "Grandpa!"

My grandfather's eyes were purple--they had grown deep and almost
terrible to see. And he said: "Yes, son," and hurried toward the house.

I went to the barn. I saddled and bridled my pony. I leaped into the
saddle and struck my heels into the pony's flanks, and away I went in a
run all the way to Petersburg--six miles and not a pause or a let up.

When I got there in a little more than half an hour, I found that they
had Mitch up at the house of Widow Morris. So I went there. He was still
alive--and they let me in. It was terrible. Such a smell of
ether--medicines. Such whisperings--such fullness in the room. The
doctor said we'd have to clear out, some of us. And some left. I staid
long enough to see Mitch. His eyes were closed. His face was yellow--I
could see blood. I turned sick