He remembered that it was a very long walk to "grandpa's house"; he
used to get very tired and his father would lift him up and place
him on his shoulder; from this lofty, even perilous, height he could
look down upon the top of his mother's bonnet,--a most astonishing
view and one that filled him with glee.

His father was the biggest man in all the world, there could be no
doubt about that. Why, he was bigger even than grandpa, or Doctor
Flint, or the parson, or Mr. Carter, who lived in the cabin next door
and was Minda's father. For the matter of that, he was, himself, a
great deal bigger than Minda, who was only two years old and could
not say anywhere near as many words as he could say--and did not
know her ABC's, or the Golden Rule, or who George Washington was.

And his father was ever so much taller than his mother. He was tall
enough to be her father or her grandfather; why, she did not come
up to his shoulder when she walked beside him. He was a million
times bigger than she was. He was bigger than anybody else in all
the world.

The little border town in Kentucky, despite its population of
less than a thousand, was the biggest city in the world. There was
no doubt about that either in Kenneth's loyal little mind. It was
bigger than Philadelphia--(he called it Fil-LEF-ily),--where his
mother used to live when she was a little girl, or Massashooshoo,
where Minda's father and mother comed from.

He was secretly distressed by the superior physical proportions of
his "Auntie" Rachel. There was no denying the fact that she was a