the barn where the big Balm of Gilead tree stood, that had been my mother’s riding whip once when she rode on Old John, she broke off a branch for me to smell of the sweet fragrant leaves, on the way to Silverton. Grandfather and I ate the pie, we were afraid it would get shaken up and dusty. When we got to town and saw all the folks we made them all sad by telling them of Old John.
We all went down to the store, and it seemed fine to stand behind the counter and play clerk, but as evening came on and Grandfather went home, it didn’t seem so good. I didn’t see any boys; everything was strange, but our own folks; but it was great to know we were there and we lived there, and to see the farmers’ boys come in, and know you were one of the town boys. It seemed like a year to the next week; when I saw Grandfather in town I ran to him and he said, “Your grandma said I should bring you home with me, she wanted you to hunt the eggs for her.” I told him to ask Father. So when he got ready to go in the evening, he drove around in the buckboard while I held the horse. I saw them talking in the back part of the store, and heard them
