wood--pieces of old boxes and boards, and dry limbs. "One more
armful," she would often say, when we were inclined to quit too
soon. In a half-hour or so, the wood would be reduced to ashes,
and the oven properly heated. I can see Mother yet as she would
open the oven door and feel the air inside with her hand. "Run,
quick, and get me a few more sticks--it is not quite hot enough."
When it was ready, the coals and ashes were raked out, and in went
the bread, six or seven big loaves of rye, with usually two of
wheat. The wheat was for company.

When we would come in at dinner- or supper-time and see wheat bread
on the table we would ask: "Who's in the other room?" Maybe the
answer would be, "Your Uncle Martin and Aunt Virey." How glad I
would be! I always liked to see company. Well, the living was
better, and then, company brought a new element into the day; it
gave a little tinge of romance to things. To wake up in the morning
and think that Uncle Martin and Aunt Virey were there, or Uncle
Edmund and Aunt Saliny, quickened the pulse a little. Or, when
any of my cousins came,--boys near my own age,--what joy filled
the days! And when they went, how lonesome I would be! how forlorn
all things looked till the second or third day! I early developed
a love of comrades, and was always fond of company--and am yet, as
the records of Slabsides show.


I was quite a hunter in my youth, as most farm boys are, but I
never brought home much game--a gray squirrel, a partridge, or a
wild pigeon occasionally. I think with longing and delight of
the myriads of wild pigeons that used to come every two or three
years--covering the sky for a day or two, and making the naked