When I was ready they all
gathered round to say good bye and my good mother seemed most concerned.
She said--"Now you must be a good boy till we come in the spring. Mind
uncle and aunt and take good care of the horse, and remember us. May God
protect you." She embraced me and kissed me and held me till she was
exhausted. Then they lifted me up into the spring seat, put the lines in
my hand and handed me my little whip with a leather strip for a lash.
Just at the last moment father handed me a purse containing about a
dollar, all in copper cents--pennies we called them then. Uncle had
started on they had kept me so long, but I started up and they all
followed me along the road for a mile or so before we finally separated
and they turned back. They waved hats and handkerchiefs till out of
sight as they returned, and I wondered if we should ever meet again.
I was up with uncle very soon and we rolled down through St. Albans and
took our road southerly along in sight of Lake Champlain. Uncle and aunt
often looked back to talk to me, "See what a nice cornfield!" or, "What
nice apples on those trees," seeming to think they must do all they
could to cheer me up, that I might not think too much of the playmates
and home I was leaving behind.
I had never driven very far before, but I found the horse knew more than
I did how to get around the big stones and stumps that were found in the
road, so that as long as I held the lines and the whip in hand I was an
excellent driver.
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