The aching parting from mother and my sisters was, of course, hard to
bear. Father let David drive me down to Pardeeville, a place I had
never before seen, though it was only nine miles south of the Hickory
Hill home. When we arrived at the village tavern, it seemed deserted.
Not a single person was in sight. I set my clock baggage on the
rickety platform. David said good-bye and started for home, leaving me
alone in the world. The grinding noise made by the wagon in turning
short brought out the landlord, and the first thing that caught his
eye was my strange bundle. Then he looked at me and said, "Hello,
young man, what's this?"
"Machines," I said, "for keeping time and getting up in the morning,
and so forth."
"Well! Well! That's a mighty queer get-up. You must be a Down-East
Yankee. Where did you get the pattern for such a thing?"
"In my head," I said.
Some one down the street happened to notice the landlord looking
intently at something and came up to see what it was. Three or four
people in that little village formed an attractive crowd, and in
fifteen or twenty minutes the greater part of the population of
Pardeeville stood gazing in a circle around my strange hickory
belongings.
Pages:
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247