put on my cap and coat, stood me on the table, and stooped so that I could climb into the basket — a pack basket, that he had used in hunting, the top a little smaller than the bottom.  Once in, I could stand comfortably or sit facing sideways, my back and knees wedged from port to starboard.  With me in my place he blew out the lantern and groped his way to the road, his cane in one hand, his rifle in the other.  Fred, our old dog — a black shepherd, with tawny points — came after us.  Uncle Eb scolded him and tried to send him back, but I pleaded for the poor creature and that settled it, he was one of our party.

‘Dunno how we’ll feed him,’ said Uncle Eb.  ’Our own mouths are big enough t’ take all we can carry, but I hain’ no heart t’ leave ’im all ‘lone there.’

I was old for my age, they tell me, and had a serious look and a wise way of talking, for a boy so young; but I had no notion of what lay before or behind us.

‘Now, boy, take a good look at the old house,’ I remember he whispered to me at the gate that night ’’Tain’t likely ye’ll ever see it ag’in.  Keep quiet now,’ he added, letting down the bars at the foot of the lane.  ‘We’re goin’ west an’ we mustn’t let the grass grow under us.  Got t’be purty spry I can tell ye.’

It was quite dark and he felt his way carefully down the cow-paths into the broad pasture.  With every step I kept a sharp lookout for swifts, and the moon shone after a while, making my work easier.

I had to hold my head down, presently, when the tall brush began to whip the basket and I heard the big boots of Uncle Eb ripping the briars.  Then we came into the blackness of the thick timber and I could hear him feeling his way over the dead leaves with his cane.  I got down, shortly, and walked beside him, holding on to the rifle with one hand.  We stumbled, often, and were long in the trail before we could see the moonlight through the tree columns.  In the clearing I climbed to my seat again and by and by we came to the road where my companion sat down resting his load on a boulder.

‘Pretty hot, Uncle Eb, pretty hot,’ he said to himself, fanning his brow with that old felt hat he wore everywhere.  ’We’ve come three mile er more without a stop an’ I guess we’d better rest a jiffy.’

My legs ached too, and I was getting very sleepy.  I remember the jolt of the basket as he rose, and hearing him say, ’Well, Uncle Eb, I guess we’d better be goin’.’

The elbow that held my head, lying on the rim of the basket, was already numb; but the prickling could no longer rouse me, and half-dead with weariness, I fell asleep.  Uncle Eb has told me since, that I tumbled out of the basket once, and that he had a time of it getting me in again, but I remember nothing more of that day’s history.