al thing for that day: board and clothes-"more board than

's old garments, which didn't fit me in any noticeable way. I was only about half as big as he was, and when I had on on

urry was a happy soul, as one could almost guess from his name. He had traveled far and learned much. What the two apprentices did not already know, Pet McMurry could teach them. Sam Clemens had promised to be a good boy, and he was so, by the standards of boyhood. He was industrious, regular at his work, quick to learn, kind, and truthful. Angels could hardly be

e were only daguerreotypes, and they were expensive things. There is a letter, though

g- office at Hannibal, over the Brittingham drug-store, mounted upon a little box at the case, who used to love to sing so well the

we must be content-we

e tune of "Annie Laurie," and he had charge of the circulation. That is to say, he carried the papers-a mission of real importance, for a long, saggin

necessary matter was produced. He was not ambitious to write-not then. He wanted to be a journeyman printer, like Pet, and travel and see the world. Sometimes he t

e was off for the river or the cave, joining his old comrades. Or perhaps he would go with Laura Hawkins to gather wild columbine on the high cliff above the river, known as Lover's Leap. Whe

ibbon-bordered pockets of her apron . . . a vision to warm the coldest heart and bless and cheer t

r being swept along by the wind. He saw that it was printed-was interested professionally in seeing what it was like. He chased the flying scrap and overtook it. It was a leaf from some old history of

d more than Sam. But now, as he read, there awoke in him a deep feeling of pity and indignation, and with it a longing to know more of the trag

ent into French history in general-indeed, into history of every kind. Samuel Clemens had suddenly become a reader-almost

ing a game of marbles or tops, he would remark to some offe

g stopped, or t