was taken out of the second-story window in a
skiff; but no one minded a trivial inconvenience like that, any more
than the Romans have minded the annual freshet of the Tiber for the last
three or four thousand years. When the waters went down the family
returned and scrubbed out the five or six inches of rich mud they had
left. In the meantime, it was a godsend to all boys of an age to enjoy
it; but it was nothing out of the order of Providence. So, if my boy
ever saw a freshet, it naturally made no impression upon him. What he
remembered was something much more important, and that was waking up one
morning and seeing a peach-tree in bloom through the window beside his
bed; and he was always glad that this vision of beauty was his very
earliest memory. All his life he has never seen a peach-tree in bloom
without a swelling of the heart, without some fleeting sense that

"Heaven lies about us in our infancy."

Over the spot where the little house once stood, a railroad has drawn
its erasing lines, and the house itself was long since taken down and
built up brick by brick in quite another place; but the blooming
peach-tree glows before his childish eyes untouched by time or change.
The tender, pathetic pink of its flowers repeated itself many long years
afterwards in the paler tints of the almond blossoms in Italy, but
always with a reminiscence of that dim past, and the little coal-smoky
town on the banks of the Ohio.

[Illustration: "THE PASSENGER IS A ONE-LEGGED MAN."]

Perversely blended with that vision of the blooming peach is a glimpse
of a pet deer in the kitchen of the same little house, with his head up
and his antlers erect, as if he meditated offence. My boy might never
have seen him so; he may have had the vision at second hand; but it is
certain that there was a pet deer in the family, and that he was as
likely to have come into the kitchen by the window as by the door. One
of the boy's uncles had seen this deer swimming the Mississippi, far to
the southward, and had sent out a yawl and captured him, and brought him
home. He began a checkered career of uselessness when they were ferrying
him over from Wheeling in a skiff, by trying to help wear the pantaloons
of the boy who was holding him; he put one of his fore-legs in at the
watch-pocket; but it was disagreeable to the boy and ruinous to the
trousers. He grew very tame, and butted children over, right and left,
in the village streets; and he