Willy was afraid to go to bed alone, which is hardly to be wondered at; for he had a strange and dreadful habit of walking in his sleep. Such habits are not as common now as they were in old times, I believe. Whether Willy's walks had anything to do with the cider and doughnuts, which were sometimes given him in the evening, unknown to his mother, I cannot say; but Mrs. Parlin was never sure, when she "tucked" him into his trundle-bed, that he would spend the night there. Quite as likely he would go wandering about the house; and one cold winter, when he was a little more than seven years old, he got up regularly every night, and walked fast asleep into the bar-room, which was always full of men, and took his seat by the fireplace. This was such a constant habit, that the men expected to see him about half past eight o'clock, just as much as they expected to see the cider and apples which "Kellup" brought out of the cellar. In those days cider was almost as freely drunk as water, and so, I grieve to say, was New England rum and brandy; and you must not suppose Mr. Parlin was a bad man because he allowed such drinking in his bar-room. There were no pledges signed in those days, but he was a perfectly temperate man, and a church member; he would have thought it very strange indeed if any one had told him he was doing wrong to sell liquor to his neighbors. And now, having introduced Master Willy and the rest of the family as well as I can, I will go on to tell you a few of Willy's adventures, some of which occurred while he was asleep, and some while he was awake. CHAPTER II. WALKING IN SLEEP. About seven o'clock, one cold evening, Willy was in the bar-room, sitting on Caleb's knee, and holding a private conversation with him, while he nibbled a cookie. "Don't you think it's the beautifulest bossy ever you saw?" "Well, middlin' handsome," replied Caleb, mischievously; "middlin' handsome." "O, Caleb, when it's got a white place in its forehead shaped _so_!" said Willy, biting his cookie into something like the form of a star. "Well, yes; you see he'd be quite a decent-looking calf, if it wasn't for that white streak, now," said Caleb, in a tone of regret. "If it _wasn't_ for that white streak! Why, Caleb Cushing!--when 'twas put there to purpose to be kissed! Love said so." "Well, everybody to their fancy," returned Caleb, dryly. "I never had any notion for kissing cattle, myself." "She isn't a cattle, Cale Cushing. She's my bossy." "Yours, do you say? Then you'd better take care of him, Willy. He walked up to the kitchen door to-day, to see if he could find anything there to lay his hands on." "Hands? He hasn't any hands, Caleb! But you ought to take care of her, any way, till I grow a man; father spects you to. And then, when she gets to be a ox--" "Well, what are you going to do when she gets to be a ox?" Willy looked puzzled. He had never thought of that before.