My Boyhood and Youth 



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 

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