e loved the job.
When we got one to the brook, and after great prying and grunting
finally boosted it in with a mighty splash, Luther would wave his arms,
jump about, and laugh like the high-hearted boy that he was. Those were
lovely days.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER TWO

I

_We carried down a little hair trunk_

[Illustration]

I was in the midst of the improvements mentioned when the family--that
is to say, Elizabeth and the girls--arrived on the scene. It was a fine
August day--the 21st, to be quite exact--and I borrowed a horse and
light wagon from Westbury and drove the three miles of brook and woods
and meadow to the station to meet them.

There was just one business house at the station--a general store--and I
suddenly found myself deeply interested, in things I had barely noticed
heretofore. Why, there was a broom! Sure enough, we would need a broom;
also, a rake--that was highly necessary; and a hatchet, and some nails,
and a shovel, and a water-pail, and a big galvanized tub, and--by the
time the train came it took careful arrangement to fit in the family and
the baggage among my purchases. The Pride had to sit on the water-pail,
the Joy, aged two, in the galvanized tub, while the Hope, who was seven,
sat on a trunk at the back, dangled her legs, waved her arms, and
whooped her delight as we joggled along, for the Hope was a care-free,
unrestrained soul, and the world to her just a perpetual song and dance.

[Illustration]

They were in a mood to take things as they found them; even the Pride,
who at twelve was critical, expressed herself as satisfied with the
house, and, with the Hope, presently made a dash for the attic, our
story of which had stirred them deeply. It was necessary to restrain
them somewhat. In the first place, our attic was not a possession to be
pawed over by careless and undiscerning childhood. Besides, it was hot
up there under the roof, and gray with the dust of years. It was a place
for a cool, rainy day and not for a mid-August afternoon.

We carried down a little hair trunk with brass nails in it, and under
the shade of one of the big maples the "tribe," as we sometimes call
them, spread out the treasures of some little old-fashioned girl who
long, long ago had put them away for the last time. There were doll
dresses, made of the quaint prints of another day, and their gay posy
patterns had remained fresh, though the thread of the long childish
stitches had grown ye