that everything had to be sold. Uncle Eb and I - a little lad, a very
little lad of six - were all that was left of what had been in that
home. Some were for sending me to the county house; but they
decided, finally, to turn me over to a dissolute uncle, with some
allowance for my keep. Therein Uncle Eb was to be reckoned
with. He had set his heart on keeping me, but he was a farm-hand
without any home or visible property and not, therefore, in the
mind of the authorities, a proper guardian. He had me with him in
the old house, and the very night he heard they were coming after
me in the morning, we started on our journey. I remember he was a
long time tying packages of bread and butter and tea and boiled
eggs to the rim of the basket, so that they hung on the outside.
Then he put a woollen shawl and an oilcloth blanket on the
bottom, pulled the straps over his shoulders and buckled them,
standing before the looking-glass, and, hang 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.'