From under my hat (1952)

Record Details:

Something wrong or inaccurate about this page? Let us Know!

Thanks for helping us continually improve the quality of the Lantern search engine for all of our users! We have millions of scanned pages, so user reports are incredibly helpful for us to identify places where we can improve and update the metadata.

Please describe the issue below, and click "Submit" to send your comments to our team! If you'd prefer, you can also send us an email to mhdl@commarts.wisc.edu with your comments.




We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.

Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.

the doctor's attention. One day I found a gun. If I nicked myself, the doctor would have a patient whom he'd have to attend. Locking myself in my parents' bedroom, I pulled the trigger. The darned thing wasn't loaded! I screeched bloody murder anyhow. Only then I wouldn't unlock the door. My folks put a ladder up to the window and came in to see what it was this time. My father quickly gave me another good whacking. I'd have tried the gun again except for the stricken look on my poor mother's face. Terrified by the hovering threat of such a wild girl, the doctor fled town, went back to the Middle West, and was never seen or heard from again by any member of the Furry family. Dora and I shared a bed. I was forever reading all the cheap novels I could find. Then I'd have a nightmare— always the same dream: either I was falling off a bridge into deep water or sliding off a rooftop into a fire. Coming out of my nightmare, I would leap in the air, landing with deadly accuracy on Dora's stomach. The happiest day of her life was her wedding day, not so much for the appropriate reason as that it enabled her to leave our bed. She never did tell me whether her husband had nightmares. Not all my childhood memories are dismal. There was Uncle John, whom I worshiped. He was nearer saint than man, yet human enough to be an inspired tease. Like many men of that period, he made his living by farming, in order that he might be a preacher on the Sabbath. He preached a simple faith in God and old-fashioned horse sense. Uncle John liked to carry me in from the fields on his shoulder and make a game of lowering me to within a hairsbreadth of a thistle patch for the fun of hearing me yell. He taught me to ride bareback and to pick cherries and apples without falling out of the trees and breaking my bones. He would set the kids down on the stone floor around a big dishpan of black cherries and chuckle when we dripped with juice from mouth to toes. How we ever got the stains out of our clothes I can't remember. Uncle John and my mother set me an example of kindness, never speaking ill of anyone. They were absolutely unalike in appearance 2.7