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Updated: June 26, 2025
In those days there were not quite so many houses behind our garden as there are now. Your great-great-grandfather sold some of the land about that time, and then houses were built, but just then there were only two or three that overlooked one side of the garden.
I was born near Ottawa, Illinois, January 6th, 1852, of Scotch-Irish descent. My great-great-grandfather Johnston was a Presbyterian clergyman, who graduated from the University of Edinburg, Scotland. My mother's name was Finch. The family originally came from New England and were typical Yankees as far as I have been able to trace them.
She was a determined young person, and for David she was an ambitious young person. She found she was dissatisfied. She found she was disappointed. The great-great-grandfather had opened up a new horizon had, in a way, raised the standard.
Not, mind you, because it's perfect Tudor of the sixteenth century, nor because the Earl of Warwick gave it to his great-grandfather's great-great-grandfather, but because it's his Manor. Horatio Bysshe Waddington's Manor. Of course, it's got to be what it is because any other sort of Manor wouldn't be good enough for Bysshe." "It's an extension of his ego, too?" "Yes.
"I could show you pictures without your taking any trouble." "Oh yes, that would be beautiful," cried Griselda. "What pictures will you show me? Oh, I know. I would like to see the place where you were born where that very, very clever man made you and the clock, I mean." "Your great-great-grandfather," said the cuckoo. "Very well. Now, Griselda, shut your eyes. First of all, I am going to sing."
A boat, however, was despatched to explore higher up the river, which, on its return, confirmed the opinion; upon this the ship was warped off and put about with great difficulty, being, like most of her sex, exceedingly hard to govern; and the adventurous Hudson, according to the account of my great-great-grandfather, returned down the river with a prodigious flea in his ear!
I delivered them into the hands of the chairman of the Board with the comfortable consciousness that their cake was dough. They were examined in the previous order of precedence. "Name, so please you?" "Pertipole, son of Sir Pertipole, Baron of Barley Mash." "Grandfather?" "Also Sir Pertipole, Baron of Barley Mash." "Great-grandfather?" "The same name and title." "Great-great-grandfather?"
Come, Daisy we'll go and try again." "Oh, stop!" I said "I like it. I want to look at it." "It is the cemetery," said Preston. "That tall column is the monument of our great no, of our great-great-grandfather; and this brown one is for mamma's father. Come, Daisy! " "Wait a little," I said. "Whose is that with the vase on top?" "Vase?" said Preston "it's an urn. It is an urn, Daisy.
"I could show you pictures without your taking any trouble." "Oh yes, that would be beautiful," cried Griselda. "What pictures will you show me? Oh, I know. I would like to see the place where you were born where that very, very clever man made you and the clock, I mean." "Your great-great-grandfather," said the cuckoo. "Very well. Now, Griselda, shut your eyes. First of all, I am going to sing."
It comprised several generations, of whom a great-great-grandfather, blind, deaf, and benignant, formed the head, and a baby, fat, wide awake, and uproarious, formed the tail. Between these there was a band of men, women, girls, and boys, whom we will not even attempt to describe, further than to say that they were all black-eyed, sunburnt, and more or less pretty and handsome.
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