as a
little more than seven years old, he got up regularly every night, and
walked fast asleep into the bar-room, which was always full of men, and
took his seat by the fireplace.

This was such a constant habit, that the men expected to see him about
half past eight o'clock, just as much as they expected to see the cider
and apples which "Kellup" brought out of the cellar.

In those days cider was almost as freely drunk as water, and so, I
grieve to say, was New England rum and brandy; and you must not suppose
Mr. Parlin was a bad man because he allowed such drinking in his
bar-room. There were no pledges signed in those days, but he was a
perfectly temperate man, and a church member; he would have thought it
very strange indeed if any one had told him he was doing wrong to sell
liquor to his neighbors.

And now, having introduced Master Willy and the rest of the family as
well as I can, I will go on to tell you a few of Willy's adventures,
some of which occurred while he was asleep, and some while he was
awake.

CHAPTER II.

WALKING IN SLEEP.

About seven o'clock, one cold evening, Willy was in the bar-room,
sitting on Caleb's knee, and holding a private conversation with him,
while he nibbled a cookie.

"Don't you think it's the beautifulest bossy ever you saw?"

"Well, middlin' handsome," replied Caleb, mischievously; "middlin'
handsome."

"O, Caleb, when it's got a white place in its forehead shaped _so_!"
said Willy, biting his cookie into something like the form of a star.

"Well, yes; you see he'd be quite a decent-looking calf, if it wasn't
for that white streak, now," said Caleb, in a tone of regret.

"If it _wasn't_ for that white streak! Why, Caleb Cushing!--when 'twas
put there to purpose to be kissed! Love said so."

"Well, everybody to their fancy," returned Caleb, dryly. "I never had
any notion for kissing cattle, myself."

"She isn't a cattle, Cale Cushing. She's my bossy."

"Yours, do you say? Then you'd better take care of him, Willy. He walked
up to the kitchen door to-day, to see if he could find anything there to
lay his hands on."

"Hands? He hasn't any hands, Caleb! But you ought to take care of her,
any way, till I grow a man; father spects you to. And then, when she
gets to be a ox--"

"Well, what are you going to do when she gets to be a ox?"

Willy looked puzzled. He had never thought of that before.

"Have him killed--shan't you, sonny? He'll make very nice ea