er if there was one.
Beds generally are bought, nowadays, at the stores, but some are
home-made, with bedcords of bast rope. Tables and chairs mostly are made
on the spot or obtained by barter from some handy neighbor. In many
homes you will still find the ancient spinning-wheel, with a hand-loom
on the porch and in the loft there will be a set of quilting frames for
making "kivers."

Out in the yard you see an ash hopper for running the lye to make soap,
maybe a few bee gums sawed from hollow logs, and a crude but effective
cider press. At the spring there is a box for cold storage in summer.
Near by stands the great iron kettle for boiling clothes, making soap,
scalding pigs, and a variety of other uses. Alongside of it is the
"battlin' block" on which the family wash is hammered with a beetle
("battlin' stick") if the woman has no washboard, which very often is
the case.

Naturally there can be no privacy and hence no delicacy, in such a home.
I never will forget my embarrassment about getting to bed the first
night I ever spent in a one-room cabin where there was a good-sized
family. I did not know what was expected of me. When everybody looked
sleepy I went outdoors and strolled around in the moonlight until the
women had time to retire. On returning to the house I found them still
bolt upright around the hearth. Then the hostess pointed to the bed I
was to occupy and said it was ready whenever I was. Well, I "shucked off
my clothes," tumbled in, turned my face to the wall, and immediately
everybody else did the same. That is the way to do: just _go_ to bed! I
lay there awake for a long time. Finally I had to roll over. A ruddy
glow from the embers showed the family in all postures of deep, healthy
slumber. It also showed something glittering on the nipple of the long,
muzzle-loading rifle that hung over the father's bed. It was a bright,
new percussion cap, where a greased rag had been when I went out for my
moonlight stroll. There was no need of a curtain in that house. They
could do without.

I have been describing an average mountain home. In valleys and coves
there are better ones, of course. Along the railroads, and on fertile
plateaus between the Blue Ridge and the Unakas, are hundreds of fine
farms, cultivated by machinery, and here dwell a class of farmers that
are scarcely to be distinguished from people of similar station in the
West. But a prosperous and educated few are not the people. When
speakin