As for his imagination, it sails away from everything.

He makes up the most remarkable yarns--and then his mother shuts him up in the closet for telling stories.

And he sits down and makes up another one, and has it ready to relate to her when she lets him out.

He had one for me when he come down tonight.

'Uncle Jim,' says he, solemn as a tombstone, 'I had a 'venture in the Glen today.' 'Yes, what was it ?' says I, expecting something quite startling, but nowise prepared for what I really got.