girl, got that from the squaw of old Chief Wiping-Stick.

The "piece" had bread-and-butter (my grandma used to let me churn
for her sometimes, when I went out there), and some of the slices
had apple-butter on them. (One time she let me stir the cider,
when it was boiling down in the big kettle over the chunk-fire out
in the yard. The smoke got in my eyes.) Sometimes there was honey
from the hives over by the gooseberry bushes - the gooseberries
had stickers on them - and we had slices of cold, fried ham. (I
was out at grandpap's one time when they butchered. They had a
chunk-fire then, too, to heat the water to scald the hogs. And
say! Did your grandma ever roast pig's tails in the ashes for you?)
And there were crullers. No, I don't mean "doughnuts." I mean
crullers, all twisted up. They go good with cider. (Sometimes my
grandma cut out thin, pallid little men of cruller dough, and dropped
them into the hot lard for my Uncle Jimmy and me. And when she
fished them out, they were all swelled up and "pussy," and golden
brown.

And there was pie. Neither at the school nooning nor at the table
did one put a piece of pie upon a plate and haggle at it with a
fork. You took the piece of pie up in your hand and pointed the
sharp end toward you, and gently crowded it into your face. It
didn't require much pressure either.

And there were always apples, real apples. I think they must make
apples in factories nowadays. They taste like it. These were real
ones, picked off the trees. Out at grandpap's they had bellflowers,
and winesaps, and seek-no-furthers, and, I think, sheep-noses, and
one kind of apple that I can't find any more, though I have sought