Publisher's Synopsis
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1884 edition. Excerpt: ... is recuperating for my benefit. That shingle horse is to him a bed of roses, and the hard log of the old cabin a pillow of down. He can sleep standing on his head, I believe; I know he can crosswise or tangled up. I am not near enough to see, but I know that his cheeks are red, his face tanned to russet, his hands dirty, his clothes ragged, and--his pulse regular. I know exactly what he will do when he awakes; he'll whistle, whistle for me, but not for my benefit. If he'd only whistle Put Me in My Little Bed, Yankee Doodle, or other soul-moving melody, his music would not be so much a burden. But he cannot distinguish between Gray Eagle and the Doxology; he could whistle a stave from a barrel sooner than a bar from an opera. He whistles to make a noise; and, not content with ordinary methods, he sticks his fingers in his mouth, and awakens the echoes down the canons until you would think the Utes had escaped from the Reservation and were round hunting scalps. How did I come by him? Why, through his mother, of course; did you ever know of a boy being round to make life a joy forever, without his mother being at the bottom of it? I had an interest in the boy; his mother is a near relative of mine, and hearing that I was to have a short vacation in the mountains, she thought it a splendid idea, if you know what that is, to have him spend his vacation with me instead of running round the streets. I told her I was going a great way off, into a rough country where the mosquito and buffalo gnat were rampant, to sleep upon the bare ground, to live upon flitch and potatoes with flap-jacks fried in grease, and she said that was just what he needed, fresh air and plain food. I told her that where I was going the boys were wicked and the men drank...
