. Parson Everett was childless, and in two
years' time both he and his wife adored the gentle, graceful girl; and
she loved them dearly. They could not part with her, and at last
adopted her formally as their daughter, with the unwilling consent of
John and Hannah. Yet they knew it was greatly "for Sylvy's
betterment," as they phrased it; so at last they let her go.

But when Dolly was a sturdy young woman of twenty-five the war-trumpet
blew, and John and the twins heard it effectually. There was a sudden
leaving of the plow in the furrow. The planting was set aside for the
children to finish, the old musket rubbed up, and with set lips and
resolute eyes the three men walked away one May morning to join the
Nepash company. Hannah kept up her smiling courage through it all. If
her heart gave way, nobody knew it but God and John. The boys she
encouraged and inspired, and the children were shamed out of their
childish tears by mother's bright face and cheery talk.

Then she set them all to work. There was corn to plant, wheat to sow,
potatoes to set; flax and wool to spin and weave, for clothes would be
needed for all, both absent and stay-at-homes. There was no father to
superintend the outdoor work; so Hannah took the field, and marshalled
her forces on Nepasset Brook much as the commander-in-chief was doing
on a larger scale elsewhere. Eben, the biggest boy, and Joey, who came
next him, were to do all the planting; Diana and Sam took on
themselves the care of the potato patch, the fowls, and the cow; Dolly
must spin and weave when mother left either the wheel or loom to
attend to the general ordering of the forces; while Obed and Betty,
the younglings of the flock, were detailed to weed, pick vegetables
(such few as were raised in the small garden), gather berries, herbs,
nuts, hunt the straying turkeys' nests, and make themselves generally
useful. At evening all the girls sewed; the boys mended their shoes,
having learned so much from a travelling cobbler; and the mother
taught them all her small stock of schooling would allow. At least,
they each knew how to read, and most of them to write, after a very
uncertain fashion. As to spelling, nobody knew how to spell in those
days.... But they did know the four simple rules of arithmetic, and
could say the epigrammatic rhymes of the old New England Primer and
the sibyllic formulas of the Assembly's Catechism as glibly as the
child of to-day repeats "The House That Jack Bu