He then made a couple of batteries, ran a line from his
window to a neighbor's, insulating it by means of the necks of some
bottles, taught the other boy the alphabet, and thus they amused
themselves sending messages back and forth.
Thus matters progressed until he was fifteen years of ago, when he
came home one day, and lay down on the settee by his mother, and gave
a great sigh.
'What is the matter?' she inquired. 'I want to make something.'
'Why, then, don't you make it?'
'Because I don't know what it shall be; I've fixed up everything I can
think of.'
'And you are like Alexander, sighing for more worlds to conquer. Is
that it?'
'Not exactly, for there is plenty for one to do, if I could only find
out what it is.'
'Have you ever made a balloon?' The boy laughed.
'You were asking for the cat the other day, and wondering what had
become of her. I didn't tell you that the last I saw of her was
through the telescope, she being about two miles up in the clouds, and
going about fifty miles an hour.'
'I thought you looked as though you knew something about her,' replied
the mother, trying to speak reprovingly, and yet smiling in spite of
herself.
'Can't you tell me something to make?' finally asked the boy.
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