There were exceptions, however, and, by and by, I came to know in each case the destination of the slipper for if I had done anything which really afflicted my conscience that strip of leather seemed to know the truth, and found its way to my person.
My Uncle Peabody was a man of a thousand.

I often saw him laughing and talking to himself and strange fancies came into my head about it.
"Who be you talkin' to ?" I asked.
"Who be I talkin' to, Bub?
Why I'm talkin' to my friends." "Friends ?" I said.
"The friends I orto have had but ain't got.

When I git lonesome I just make up a lot o' folks and some of 'em is good comp'ny." He loved to have me with him, as he worked, and told me odd tales and seemed to enjoy my prattle.

I often saw him stand with rough fingers stirring his beard, just beginning to show a sprinkle of white, while he looked down at me as if struck with wonder at something I had said.
"Come and give me a kiss, Bub," he would say.

As he knelt down, I would run to his arms and I wondered why he always blinked his gray eyes after he had kissed me.
He was a bachelor and for a singular reason.