plenty of good
things to eat engrossed the day. It was a time of rejoicing--and
unlimited pie.

Sunday was strictly observed. Grandfather always blacked his boots
before sundown of Saturday night, and on Sunday anything but going to
meeting was regarded with suspicion, especially if it was associated
with any form of enjoyment. In summer "Log Cabin" was hitched into the
shafts of the chaise, and with gait slightly accelerated beyond the
daily habit jogged to town and was deposited in the church shed during
the service. At noon we rejoined him and ate our ginger-bread and cheese
while he disposed of his luncheon of oats. Then we went back to
Sunday-school, and he rested or fought flies. In winter he was decked
with bells and hitched in the sleigh. Plenty of robes and a foot-stove,
or at least a slab of heated soap-stone, provided for grandmother's
comfort.

The church when it was formed was named "The First Congregational." When
it became Unitarian, the word, in parentheses, was added. The Second
Congregational was always called "The Orthodox." The church building was
a fine example of early architecture. The steeple was high, the walls
were white, the pews were square. On a tablet at the right of the pulpit
the Ten Commandments were inscribed, and at the left the Beatitudes
were found.

The first minister I remember was saintly Hiram Withington, who won my
loyalty by his interest manifested by standing me up by the door-jamb
and marking my growth from call to call. I remember Rufus P. Stebbins,
the former minister, who married my father and mother and refused a fee
because my father had always cut his hair in the barberless days of old.
Amos A. Smith was later in succession. I loved him for his goodness.
Sunday-school was always a matter of course, and was never dreaded.

I early enjoyed the Rollo books and later reveled in Mayne Reid. The
haymow in the barn and a blessed knothole are associated with many happy
hours.

Reading has dangers. I think one of the first books I ever read was a
bound volume of _Merry's Museum_. There was a continued story recounting
the adventures of one Dick Boldhero. It was illustrated with horrible
woodcuts. One of them showed Dick bearing on a spirited charger the
clasped form of the heroine, whom he had abducted. It impressed me
deeply. I recognized no distinction of sex or attractiveness and lived
in terror of suffering abduction. When I saw a stranger coming I would
run into the