nday. I had a
headache also and soon fell asleep.

The sun was low when they awoke me in our dooryard.

"Hope it'll be some time 'fore ye feel the need of another sermon," said
Uncle Peabody as Aunt Deel got out of the buggy. "I ain't felt so wicked
in years."

I was so sick that Aunt Deel put me to bed and said that she would feed
the pigs and the chickens. Sick as he was, Uncle Peabody had to milk the
cows. How relentless were the cows!

I soon discovered that the Dunkelbergs had fallen from their high estate
in our home and that Silas Wright, Jr., had taken their place in the
conversation of Aunt Deel.

CHAPTER IV

OUR LITTLE STRANGE COMPANION

In the pathless forest we had a little companion that always knew its
way. No matter how strange and remote the place might be or how black
the night its tiny finger always pointed in the same direction. By the
light of the torch at midnight, in blinding darkness, I have seen it
sway and settle toward its beloved goal. It seemed to be thinking of
some far country which it desired to recommend to us.

It seemed to say: "Look! I know not which way is yours, but this--this
is my way and all the little cross roads lead off it."

What a wonderful wisdom it had! I remember it excited a feeling of awe
in me as if it were a spirit and not a tool.

The reader will have observed that my uncle spoke of the compass as if
it directed plant and animal in achieving their purposes. From the
beginning in the land of my birth it had been a thing as familiar as the
dial and as necessary. The farms along our road were only stumpy
recesses in the wilderness, with irregular curving outlines of thick
timber--beech and birch and maple and balsam and spruce and pine and
tamarack--forever whispering of the unconquered lands that rolled in
great billowy ridges to the far horizon.

We were surrounded by the gloom and mystery of the forest. If one left
the road or trail for even a short walk he needed a compass to guide
him. That little brass box with its needle, swaying and seeming to
quiver with excitement as it felt its way to the north side of the
circle and pointed unerringly at last toward its favorite star, filled
me with wonder.

"Why does it point toward the north star?" I used to ask.

"That's a secret," said Uncle Peabody. "I wouldn't wonder if the gate o'
heaven was up there. Maybe it's a light in God's winder. Who knows? I
kind o' mistrust it's the direction we're all