An old neighbor, Dr. Hull, lived
there, and I would seek him.
There was only a stage-line at that time connecting the two counties,
and that passed twelve miles from my home. My plan was to cross the
mountain into Red Kill to Uncle Martin Kelly's, pass the night there,
and in the morning go to Clovesville, three miles distant, and take
the stage. How well I remember that walk across the mountain in
a snow-squall through which the sun shone dimly, a black oilcloth
satchel in my hand, and in my heart vague yearnings and forebodings!
I had but a few dollars in my pocket, probably six or seven, most of
which I had earned by selling maple sugar. Father was willing I
should go, though my help was needed on the farm.
Well, I traversed the eight miles to my uncle's in good time, and
in the morning he drove me down to the turnpike to take the stage.
I remember well my anxious and agitated state of mind while waiting
at the hotel for the arrival of the stage. I had never ridden in
one, I am not sure that I had even seen one, and I did not know just
what was expected of me, or just how I should deport myself. An
untraveled farm boy at seventeen is such a vague creature anyway,
and I was, in addition, such a bundle of sensibilities, timidities,
and embarrassments as few farm boys are.
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