heart, and shake the cowardice and the meanness out of it.

I thus made friends with Nature. I had no great variety even in her,
but the better did I understand what I had. The next Summer I began to
hunt for glow-worms, and carry them carefully to my hollow, that in the
warm, soft, moonless nights they might illumine it with a strange
light. When I had been very successful, I would call my uncle and aunt
to see. My aunt tried me by always having something to do first. My
uncle, on the other hand, would lay down his book at once, and follow
me submissively. He could not generate amusement for me, but he
sympathized with what I could find for myself.

'Come and see my cows,' I would say to him.

I well remember the first time I took him to see them. When we reached
the hollow, he stood for a moment silent. Then he said, laying his hand
on my shoulder,

'Very pretty, Willie! But why do you call them cows?'

'You told me last night,' I answered, 'that the road the angels go
across the sky is called the milky way--didn't you, uncle?'

'I never told you the angels went that way, my boy.'

'Oh! didn't you? I thought you did.'

'No, I didn't.'

'Oh! I remember now: I thought if it was a way, and nobody but the