Did you not tell me once that
Zike Hastings, over in East Bloomfield, became a drunkard by drinking wine
when he was sick?"
"Yes, Clinton, I believe I told you so."
"Well, then, I do not want any wine. I have seen Zike Hastings too many
times."
In December Aunt Jennie and Grace made their annual visit. With them came
Uncle Jonathan, who took a great liking to Clinton.
"My boy," said he one day, placing a big hand on the lad's shoulder, "early
in the new year Aunt Jennie and I start for the Pacific Coast. Should you
like to go with us?"
"Well, I rather guess I should!" gasped the surprised boy, clasping his
hands joyfully. "Very well, then, you shall go," returned Uncle Jonathan,
"and your mother, too."
Clinton began to feel better before they were outside of Pennsylvania. When
they had crossed the Mississippi and reached the prairies, his eyes were
sparkling with excitement. The mountains fairly put new life in him. Uncle
Jonathan watched him with pleasure. "Tell me," he said one day, when they
were winding in and out among the Rockies, "what has given you so much
strength of character?"
"Why, it was this way," said Clinton, bringing his eyes in from a chasm
some hundreds of feet below: "one day when I was beginning to recover from
that attack of pneumonia, I saw a lot of the boys romping along, and I felt
pretty bad because I could not romp and play, too; then I thought that if I
could not be strong that way, I could have the strength to do right; so I
began to try, and----"
"Succeeded admirably," said Uncle Jonathan, approvingly.
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