Naturally I turned from her to my Uncle Peabody as a refuge and a help in time of trouble with increasing fondness.

He had no knitting or sewing to do and when Uncle Peabody sat in the house he gave all his time to me and we weathered many a storm together as we sat silently in his favorite corner, of an evening, where I always went to sleep in his arms.
He and I slept in the little room up-stairs, "under the shingles"-- as uncle used to say.

I in a small bed, and he in the big one which had been the receiver of so much violence.

So I gave her only a qualified affection until I could see beneath the words and the face and the correcting hand of my Aunt Deel.
Uncle made up the beds in our room.

Often his own bed would go unmade.
My aunt would upbraid him for laziness, whereupon he would say that when he got up he liked the feel of that bed so much that he wanted to begin next night right where he had left off.
I was seven years old when Uncle Peabody gave me the watermelon seeds.