“Bart, don’t dig so fast,” said he.  “You’re down to hard pan now.  Never be in a hurry to see the bottom of the bowl.”

I have never forgotten the look of amusement in his big, smiling, gray eyes as they looked down upon me out of his full, ruddy, smooth-shaven face.  It inspired confidence and I whispered timidly: 

“Could I have some more?”

“All you want,” he answered, as he put another ladle full in my bowl.

When we had finished eating he set aside the dishes and I asked: 

“Now could I go and see Sally Dunkelberg?”

“What in the world do you want of Sally Dunkelberg?” he asked.

“Oh, just to play with her,” I said as I showed him how I could sit on my hands and raise myself from the chair bottom.

“Haven’t you any one to play with at home?”

“Only my Uncle Peabody.”

“Don’t you like to play with him?”

“Oh, some, but he can’t stand me any longer.  He’s all tired out, and my Aunt Deel, too.  I’ve tipped over every single thing on that place.  I tipped over the honey yesterday—­spillt it all over everything and rooend my clothes.  I’m a reg’lar pest.  So I want to play with Sally Dunkelberg.  She knows all kinds o’ riddles and games and all about grand ladies and gentlemen and she wears shiny shoes and her hair smells just like roses, and I want to play with her a little while—­just a wee little while.”

I had unburdened my soul.  The above words are quoted not from my memory, but from his, which has always been most reliable.  I remember well my thoughts and feelings but not many of my words on a day so distant.

“Forward, march!” said he and away we started for the home of the Dunkelbergs.  The village interested me immensely.  I had seen it only twice before.  People were moving about in the streets.  One thing I did not fail to notice.  Every man we met touched his hat as he greeted my friend.

“Good morning, Sile,” some said, as we passed them, or, “How are you, Comptroller?”

It was a square, frame house—­that of the Dunkelbergs—­large for that village, and had a big dooryard with trees in it.  As we came near the gate I saw Sally Dunkelberg playing with other children among the trees.  Suddenly I was afraid and began to hang back.  I looked down at my bare feet and my clothes, both of which were dirty.  Sally and her friends had stopped their play and were standing in a group looking at us.  I heard Sally whisper: 

“It’s that Baynes boy.  Don’t he look dirty?”

I stopped and withdrew my hand from that of my guide.

“Come on, Bart,” he said.

I shook my head and stood looking over at that little, hostile tribe near me.

“Go and play with them while I step into the house,” he urged.

Again I shook my head.

“Well, then, you wait here a moment,” said my new-found friend.

He left me and I sat down upon the ground, thoughtful and silent.