other place to go to."

"But if you can't stan' it," said Uncle Peabody.

"I've got to stan' it--ayes!--I can't stan' it, but I've got to--ayes!
So have you."

Aunt Deel put me to bed although it was only five o'clock. As I lay
looking up at the shingles a singular resolution came to me. It was born
of my longing for the companionship of my kind and of my resentment. I
would go and live with the Dunkelbergs. I would go the way they had gone
and find them. I knew it was ten miles away, but of course everybody
knew where the Dunkelbergs lived and any one would show me. I would run
and get there before dark and tell them that I wanted to live with them,
and every day I would play with Sally Dunkelberg. Uncle Peabody was not
half as nice to play with as she was.

I heard Uncle Peabody drive away. I watched him through the open
window. I could hear Aunt Deel washing the dishes in the kitchen. I got
out of bed very slyly and put on my Sunday clothes. I went to the open
window. The sun had just gone over the top of the woods. I would have to
hurry to get to the Dunkelbergs' before dark. I crept out on the top of
the shed and descended the ladder that leaned against it. I stood a
moment listening. The dooryard was covered with shadows and very still.
The dog must have gone with Uncle Peabody. I ran through the garden to
the road and down it as fast as my bare feet could carry me. In that
direction the nearest house was almost a mile away. I remember I was out
of breath, and the light growing dim before I got to it. I went on. It
seemed to me that I had gone nearly far enough to reach my destination
when I heard a buggy coming behind me.

"Hello!" a voice called.

I turned and looked up at Dug Draper, in a single buggy, dressed in his
Sunday suit.

"Is it much further to where the Dunkelbergs live?" I asked.

"The Dunkelbergs? Who be they?"

It seemed to me very strange that he didn't know the Dunkelbergs.

"Where Sally Dunkelberg lives."

That was a clincher. He laughed and swore and said:

"Git in here, boy. I'll take ye there."

I got into the buggy, and he struck his horse with the whip and went
galloping away in the dusk.

"I reckon you're tryin' to git away from that old pup of an aunt," said
he. "I don't wonder. I rather live with a she bear."

I have omitted and shall omit the oaths and curses with which his talk
was flavored.

"I'm gittin' out o' this country myself," said he. "It's too pious for
m