ging circumstances. I really did
not know how I should get on. There was no table, no bed, no basin, no
towel, no glass, no window, no fastening on the door. The roof was in
holes, the logs were unchinked, and one end of the cabin was partially
removed! Life was reduced to its simplest elements. I went out; the
family all had something to do, and took no notice of me. I went back,
and then an awkward girl of sixteen, with uncombed hair, and a painful
repulsiveness of face and air, sat on a log for half an hour and stared
at me. I tried to draw her into talk, but she twirled her fingers and
replied snappishly in monosyllables. Could I by any effort "make
myself agreeable"? I wondered. The day went on. I put on my Hawaiian
dress, rolling up the sleeves to the elbows in an "agreeable" fashion.
Towards evening the family returned to feed, and pushed some dried beef
and milk in at the door. They all slept under the trees, and before
dark carried the sacks of straw out for their bedding. I followed
their example that night, or rather watched Charles's Wain while they
slept, but since then have slept on blankets on the floor under the
roof. They have neither lamp nor candle, so if I want to do anything
after dark I have to do it by the unsteady light of pine knots. As the
nights are cold, and free from bugs, and I do a good deal of manual
labor, I sleep well. At dusk I make my bed on the floor, and draw a
bucket of ice-cold water from the river; the family go to sleep under
the trees, and I pile logs on the fire sufficient to burn half the
night, for I assure you the solitude is eerie enough. There are
unaccountable noises, (wolves), rummagings under the floor, queer
cries, and stealthy sounds of I know not what. One night a beast (fox
or skunk) rushed in at the open end of the cabin, and fled through the
window, almost brushing my face, and on another, the head and three or
four inches of the body of a snake were protruded through a chink of
the floor close to me, to my extreme disgust. My mirror is the
polished inside of my watchcase. At sunrise Mrs. Chalmers comes in--if
coming into a nearly open shed can be called IN--and makes a fire,
because she thinks me too stupid to do it, and mine is the family room;
and by seven I am dressed, have folded the blankets, and swept the
floor, and then she puts some milk and bread or stirabout on a box by
the door. After breakfast I draw more water, and wash one or two