“I 'member a boy over'n Vermont by the name o' Lem Barker. Grew so fast that the fust he knew his clo's begun to pinch him, an' the bottoms of his pants wouldn't 'sociate with his shoe-leather, an' his hands was way down below his coat sleeves, an' the old suit was wore so thin he didn't dast run er rassle fer fear it would bust an' drop off him. All he could do was to set an' think an' talk an' chaw ter-baccer an' walk as careful as a hen lookin' fer grasshoppers. He hadn't any confidence in that old suit, an' was kind o' 'fraid of it. One day he see a bear, an' it come nec'sary fer him to move quick, an' he split his clo's, an' hed to go hum in a rain-barrel. At fust he thought it was bad luck, but when his 8035 father got him a new suit he see that he was mistaken. We old folks are a good deal like poor Lem. We toddle around in our old clo's an' are a leetle bit afraid of 'em. It would be lucky for us if we could meet a bear. I'd like to go down to the brook there on the run jest as I used to. But I wouldn't dast try it. My body don't fit my spirit—that's what's the matter. Got to go an' have my measure took, an' throw 'way the old suit. An' I'll tell ye, Bill, I need a better outfit than what I've ever had—suthin' stouter-wove an' han'somer an' more durable—suthin' fit fer a man. I'm goin' to hev it—call that a curse?” He looked at his bony, trembling hands, and went on: “It's all faded an' kind o' cold an' threadbare. My back couldn't carry 8036 one small boy in a basket these days, but I'd like t' carry all the boys in the county, an' mebbe some time I'll have a back broad 'nough. That'll be when school's dismissed, an' I go off t' seek my fortune, good deal as you did. I 'member how you went an' got some new clo's there 'n New York fust thing. An' they was splendid—better 'n any ye could git in Hillsborough.” We heard footsteps in a moment, and I turned and saw Jed Feary approaching us. He was past eighty years of age, and his hair and beard were white, and he walked slowly with a cane. He stopped near us, and began to laugh as we greeted him. “Heard you was here,” he said, “an' Rans Walker druv me down the road.” “Stump ye t' rassle with me,” said Uncle Eb, with a smile. 8037 “Wait 'til I've throwed the rheumatiz, an' then I'll tackle you,” said the poet. “How are you, Uncle Jed?” was my query. “As you see—the trembling hand an' slippered pantaloon.” “All the world's a stage,” I quoted. “It used to be in the time o' Shakespeare,” said the poet. “Life was a pretty play those days, but since then we've got down to business. Now “All the world's a school, And all the men and women merely scholars. It has its teachers, grades, and many classes; Its trustees, honors, torts, and punishments. Its books are three: Nature, history, And revelation teaching holy truth: That men are brothers and must learn to love.” “And you are one of its teachers,” said Uncle Eb. 8038