and generally put me to sleep--especially
the peepers. In my childhood the peepers were the bells of dream-land
calling me to rest. The sweet sound no sooner caught my ear than my
thoughts began to steal away on tiptoe and in a moment the house of my
brain was silent and deserted, and thereafter, for a time, only fairy
feet came into it. So even those happy thoughts of a joyous holiday soon
left me and I slept.

I was awakened by a cool, gentle hand on my brow. I opened my eyes and
saw the homely and beloved face of Uncle Peabody smiling down at me.
What a face it was! It welcomed me, always, at the gates of the morning
and I saw it in the glow of the candle at night as I set out on my
lonely, dreaded voyage into dream-land. Do you wonder that I stop a
moment and wipe my glasses when I think of it?

"Hello, Bart!" said he. "It's to-morrer."

I sat up. The delicious odor of frying ham was in the air. The glow of
the morning sunlight was on the meadows.

"Come on, ol' friend! By mighty! We're goin' to--" said Uncle Peabody.

Happy thoughts came rushing into my brain again. What a tumult! I leaped
out of bed.

"I'll be ready in a minute, Uncle Peabody," I said as, yawning, I drew
on my trousers.

"Don't tear yer socks," he cautioned as I lost patience with their
unsympathetic behavior.

He helped me with my boots, which were rather tight, and I flew
down-stairs with my coat half on and ran for the wash-basin just outside
the kitchen door.

"Hello, Bart! If the fish don't bite to-day they ought to be ashamed o'
themselves," said Mr. Wright, who stood in the dooryard in an old suit
of clothes which belonged to Uncle Peabody.

The sun had just risen over the distant tree-tops and the dew in the
meadow grass glowed like a net of silver and the air was chilly. The
chores were done. Aunt Deel appeared in the open door as I was wiping my
face and hands and said in her genial, company voice:

"Breakfast is ready."

Aunt Deel never shortened her words when company was there. Her respect
was always properly divided between her guest and the English language.

How delicious were the ham, smoked in our own barrels, and the eggs
fried in its fat and the baked potatoes and milk gravy and the buckwheat
cakes and maple syrup, and how we ate of them! Two big pack baskets
stood by the window filled with provisions and blankets, and the black
bottom of Uncle Peabody's spider was on the top of one of them, with its
handle rea