He made the journey to Polotzk beside his father, jogging along in the springless wagon on the rutty roads.

He took a boy's pleasure in the gypsy life, the green wood, and the summer storm; while his father sat moody beside him, seeing nothing but the spavins on the horse's hocks, and the mud in the road ahead.
There is little else to tell of my father's boyhood, as most of his time was spent in the schoolroom.

Outside the schoolroom he was conspicuous for high spirits in play, daring in mischief, and independence in everything.

But a boy's playtime was so short in Yuchovitch, and his resources so limited, that even a lad of spirit came to the edge of his premature manhood without a regret for his nipped youth.

So my father, at the age of sixteen and a half, lent a willing ear to the cooing voice of the marriage broker.
Indeed, it was high time for him to marry.