found them in milk; they kept hens, and the
hens kept _them_ in eggs; they kept a pig, and the pig made no
objection to being cut up, whenever they got ready to eat him; then,
they brought meal and flour enough with them, to last till they could
plough the land, and raise corn and wheat of their own, which they
intended doing as soon as the log house should be raised over their
heads.

Oh, they got on famously. It was good, healthy work, this digging, and
hewing, and ploughing. It made the muscles on their arms stand out like
whip cords; it bronzed their pale faces, and made their eyes bright,
and gave them a good appetite for their bread and milk; and when they
went to bed, they didn't stop to see if the seam of the sheet was
exactly in the middle, or to count the feathers in the pillows under
their heads. They had neighbors (off in different directions); some
four miles away; some two; some six, and some eight. Not city neighbors
who shut themselves up in their great jails of houses, and wouldn't
care if a hearse stood before your door every day in the year. No,
indeed! They were warm-hearted country folks, with hearts as big as
their pumpkins. If you were out of meal, or molasses, or sugar, or tea,
you were welcome to borrow of them till you could spare time to send to
"the settlement" for some. That's the way _they_ lived. The men folks
had too many trees to cut down to keep tackling up the old oxen every
five minutes, and go "gee-hawing" over to the stores, every time the
women wanted an Indian cake. No; they borrowed of each other till
somebody had time to go to the store or to mill; and then, whoever
went, took all their errands and did them up in a bunch, to save time.
_They_ went by the "golden rule."

People who live in the woods, where the trees are all the time
whispering of God, and the little birds singing of Him, don't feel like
being quarrelsome, and disobliging, and ugly; no, they leave that to
city people, who live in such a whirl that they never remember they
have a soul till Death comes after it.

Well, as I was saying, they helped one another. Orphy Smith, Mr.
Moore's next neighbor, took his bag of corn one day, to carry it to
mill. Mitty was very glad, because they had been out of meal some days,
and she was rather tired of potatoes. So she made up her mind, and her
mouth, that when Orphy came back, they would all have "a prime supper."
But Orphy didn't _come_ back that night, or the next mornin