me, my mother's
graver manners and prayers doubtless saved me from being too selfish and
effeminate. Boys, however, owe chiefly to each other their escape from
the apron string and the softness of nursery manners.

How empty now seemed the house whence the dear father had gone forever.
The problems of life offered themselves to my mother and sisters with a
terrible and crushing reality. My sisters were old enough and had
sufficient education to teach the summer terms of district schools. My
mother boarded the winter schoolmaster and planted and cared for her
garden with her own hands. There was a pig in the pen and a flock of
hens in the sod house. Most of my father's tools were sold at public
vendue, which brought in a little ready money. There was straw to be
braided at one and a half, sometimes two cents per yard; in summer
huckleberries were picked and sold for three and four cents a quart.
There was a peddler who made his rounds monthly and always put up for
the night at my mother's house, paying his score with a liberal barter
of such articles as he carried, dry goods, women's shoes and small
wares. Dresses were made over and over, were darned and patched as long
as the cloth would hold the stitches. My father's clothes were cut down
for me and I wore the last of them in my sixteenth year. My straw hats
and winter caps were home-made. Every year a cousin in business in
Woonsocket Falls presented me with a pair of new boots. There was no
want in the household because wants were few and had been reduced to the
last limit. I am sure I never went cold or hungry although I never had a
boughten plaything or any of those delicacies which are more necessary
to children than necessities.

It is in such circumstances that the friendliness of country neighbors
appears in its most beautiful light. There is no thought of almsgiving
on their part, nor a sense of accepting charity on the part of the
recipients. Benevolence and gratitude were not called upon to exchange
compliments. Farmer Bosworth is going our way and leaves a jug of milk;
he stops to chat a while and relight his pipe with a coal from the
hearth. Would you see him do it with a boy's eyes? The tongs are too
long and heavy to bring around to his pipe; but with them he pulls out a
coal of the right size, picks it up between thumb and finger and puts it
into his pipe bowl. I stand close beside him, and although he doesn't
cringe, I do, and almost feel my fingers b