The Light in the Clearing
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 st