mysteries made about the plain-spoken literature of other days, in spite
of Aunt Lot's fuming. I did not understand it, so it did not tempt, and
as I look back, I realize that the book of life was spread before me
wisely and gradually, father turning page after page, then passing the
task to Evan, so that I never had a shock or disillusionment.

I wonder if mother had lived if I should think differently, and be more
apprehensive about the boys, womanwise? I think not; for I am a
sun-loving Pagan all through, really born far back in an overlooked
corner of Eden, and I prefer the forceful father influence that teaches
one _to overcome_ rather than the mother cult which is _to bear_, for so
much is cumbrously borne in self-glorified martyrdom by women of their
own volition.

I know that I am very primitive in my instincts and emotions; so are the
boys, and that keeps us close, or so close, together.

Of course illustrated books are now the chief attraction to them in the
library, and yesterday, when father went there with the boys, he supplied
Ian, as usual, with "The Uncivilized Races of Man," which always opens of
itself at the Mumbo Jumbo picture, and as a great treat for Richard, took
down the three quarto volumes of Audubon's "Quadrupeds," and ranged them
on a low stand with a stool in front of it. Then, being tired after a
hard morning's work, he drew his big leather chair near the, fire, put on
an extra log, and proceeded to--meditate. You will doubtless notice
that when father or husband close their eyes, sitting in comfortable
chairs by the fire, they are always meditating, and never sleeping,
little nosey protestations to the contrary.

Father's meditations must have been long and deep, for when he was
startled from them by the breaking in two of the hickory log, a gory
spectacle met his eyes.

Richard was sitting on the hearth rug, which he had carefully covered
with newspapers; these, as well as his hands and face, were stained a
deep crimson, while with a stout silver fruit-knife he was hacking pieces
from a great pulpy red mass before him.

Checking an exclamation of horror father started forward, to meet
Richard's cheerful, frank gaze and the request, as he dug away
persistently, to "Please wait one minute more, dranpa. I've got the heart
all done, that big floppy piece is lungs, an' I've most made the liver.
Not the good kind that goes wif curly bacon, but a nasty one like what we
wear inside."

Th