Mr. Frost's farm was situated about three-quarters of a mile from
the village. It comprised fifty acres, of which twenty were
suitable for tillage, the remainder being about equally divided
between woodland and pasture.

Mr. Frost had for some years before his marriage been a painter,
and had managed to save up from his earnings not far from a
thousand dollars. Thinking, however, that farming would be more
favorable to health, he purchased his fifty-acre farm for
twenty-eight hundred dollars, payable one thousand down, and the
rest remaining on mortgage. At the date of our story he had
succeeded in paying up the entire amount within eight hundred
dollars, a mortgage for that amount being held by Squire Haynes.
He had not been able to accomplish this without strict economy,
in which his wife had cheerfully aided him.

But his family had grown larger and more expensive. Besides
Frank, who was the oldest, there were now three younger
children--Alice, twelve years of age; Maggie, ten; and Charlie,
seven.

The farmhouse was small but comfortable, and the family had never
been tempted to sigh for a more costly or luxurious home. They
were happy and contented, and this made their home attractive.

On the evening succeeding that of the war meeting, Frank was
seated in the common sitting-room with his father and mother.
There was a well-worn carpet on the floor, a few plain chairs
were scattered about the room, and in the corner ticked one of
the old-fashioned clocks such as used to be the pride of our New