ered.

It was more than I could stand. A roar of distress and disappointment
came from my lips.

Uncle Peabody hurried into the kitchen.

"The Comptroller wants him to go," said he.

"He does?" she repeated as she stood with her hands on her hips looking
up at her brother.

"He likes Bart and wants to take him along."

"Wal, then, you'll have to be awful careful of him," said Aunt Deel.
"I'm 'fraid he'll plague ye--ayes!"

"No, he won't--we'll love to have him."

"Wal, I guess you could git Mary Billings to come over and stay with me
an' help with the chores--ayes, I wouldn't wonder!"

I could contain my joy no longer, but ran into the other room on tiptoe
and announced excitedly that I was going. Then I rushed out of the open
door and rolled and tumbled in the growing grass, with the dog barking
at my side. In such times of joyful excitement I always rolled and
tumbled in the grass. It was my way of expressing inexpressible delight.

I felt sorry for the dog. Poor fellow! He couldn't go fishing. He had to
stay home always. I felt sorry for the house and the dooryard and the
cows and the grindstone and Aunt Deel. The glow of the candles and the
odor of ham and eggs drew me into the house. Wistfully I watched the
great man as he ate his supper. I was always hungry those days. Mr.
Wright asked me to have an egg, but I shook my head and said "No, thank
you" with sublime self-denial. At the first hint from Aunt Deel I took
my candle and went up to bed.

"I ain't afraid o' bears," I heard myself whispering as I undressed. I
whispered a good deal as my imagination ran away into the near future.

Soon I blew out my candle and got into bed. The door was open at the
foot of the stairs. I could see the light and hear them talking. It had
been more than a year since Uncle Peabody had promised to take me into
the woods fishing, but most of our joys were enriched by long
anticipation filled with talk and fancy.

I lay planning my behavior in the woods. It was to be helpful and polite
and generally designed to show that I could be a man among men. I lay a
long time whispering over details. There was to be no crying, even if I
did get hurt a little once in a while. Men never cried. Only babies
cried. I could hear Mr. Wright talking about Bucktails and Hunkers below
stairs and I could hear the peepers down in the marsh.

Peepers and men who talked politics were alike to me those days. They
were beyond my understanding