er him or to wait, or to
go on to the harness shop. I decided to foller him to keep him from
gettin' into more talks, if I could. I suppose he stopped or was stopped
a dozen times to talk; and he and the jeweler had a long talk. Mitch and
me never wasted time this a way. I couldn't understand it.

Then we got over to the hitchin' rack, and got into the carriage and
started for the harness shop. Grandma was fussed and began to scold, and
grandpa just laughed and said, "Hey! hey!" and went for his halter. He
and the harness maker had a considerable talk, and at last we got
started.

By this time I was tired clear out and fell asleep before we got to the
fair grounds and slept until we got to the hill where you first see the
farm house. And then when we drove into the lot, my Uncle Henry came to
take the horses. And I wondered and asked, "Where's Willie Wallace?"
"He's gone to work on the railroad. He's a brakeman now," said my uncle.
My heart sunk clear down, for I had expected to go fishin' with him, and
ride around the country while he was haulin' corn. And it made me sad to
think he was gone for good, and maybe at this very minute was in some
noisy, wicked place, like Peoria, with railroad men, conductors and
such. Anyway, he was gone, and they had no one in his place. And grandma
said, "It's a great mistake. He'll get killed, or get into bad company.
It's not a good thing to leave home and your place and go gallivantin'
around the country on the cars." But it seemed he wasn't so far away,
after all. He was on the C. P. which came through Atterberry, and I was
bettin' if we went there some day when the train came through we could
see him in the caboose, or runnin' on top of the cars, or couplin' and
sayin' "back her up," or motionin' to go ahead.

You can bet that grandma started to get me well. I had the softest bed
you ever see, and the best things to eat, and a horse to ride, and we
went visitin' around to the neighbors, and over to old Cy McDoel's who
was dyin' that summer and had been in bed a long while. He was about
ninety. I saw and heard my grandpa say to Cy, "I seen slavery abolished,
and I expect to live to see hard drink done away with." And Cy said,
"You will, but I won't. But it makes no difference. The Lord will have
His own way. Blessed be the name of the Lord." The flies was awful and
every now and then Cy's granddaughter came in to fan the flies off
him--but they came right back.

By Wednesday it