cerned, any
old thing that 'd hang together was good enough fer me; but by the time
the older boys had outgrowed their duds, an' they was passed on to me,
the' wa'n't much left on 'em. A pair of old cowhide boots that leaked in
more snow an' water 'n they kept out, an' a couple pairs of woolen socks
that was putty much all darns, was expected to see me through the
winter, an' I went barefoot f'm the time the snow was off the ground
till it flew agin in the fall. The' wa'n't but two seasons o' the year
with me--them of chilblains an' stun-bruises."

The speaker paused and stared for a moment into the comfortable glow of
the fire, and then discovering to his apparent surprise that his cigar
had gone out, lighted it from a coal picked out with the tongs.

"Farmin' 's a hard life," remarked Mrs. Cullom with an air of being
expected to make some contribution to the conversation.

"An' yit, as it seems to me as I look back on't," David resumed
pensively, "the wust on't was that nobody ever gin me a kind word, 'cept
Polly. I s'pose I got kind o' used to bein' cold an' tired; dressin' in
a snowdrift where it blowed into the attic, an' goin' out to fodder
cattle 'fore sun-up; pickin' up stun in the blazin' sun, an' doin' all
the odd jobs my father set me to, an' the older ones shirked onto me.
That was the reg'lar order o' things; but I remember I never _did_ git
used to never pleasin' nobody. Course I didn't expect nothin' f'm my
step-marm, an' the only way I ever knowed I'd done my stent fur 's
father was concerned, was that he didn't say nothin'. But sometimes the
older one's 'd git settin' 'round, talkin' an' laughin', havin' pop corn
an' apples, an' that, an' I'd kind o' sidle up, wantin' to join 'em, an'
some on 'em 'd say, 'What _you_ doin' here? time you was in bed,' an'
give me a shove or a cuff. Yes, ma'am," looking up at Mrs. Cullom, "the
wust on't was that I was kind o' scairt the hull time. Once in a while
Polly 'd give me a mossel o' comfort, but Polly wa'n't but little older
'n me, an' bein' the youngest girl, was chored most to death herself."

It had stopped snowing, and though the wind still came in gusty blasts,
whirling the drift against the windows, a wintry gleam of sunshine came
in and touched the widow's wrinkled face.

[Illustration: DAVID HARUM, Act III]

"It's amazin' how much trouble an' sorrer the' is in the world, an'
how soon it begins," she remarked, moving a little to avoid the
sunlight. "I