ther were driven away from home, and each believed the other
dead for three years, until the man escaped, and then went, hearing that
his wife was alive, to buy her freedom. They came to the farm again, and
were buried in the old burying-lot, side by side.

"There was a part of the story which you left out," Mrs. Picknell said.
"When they killed the little baby, the Indians told its poor mother not
to cry about it or they would kill her too; and when her tears would
fall, a kind-hearted squaw was quick enough to throw some water in the
poor woman's face, so that the men only laughed and thought it was a
taunt, and not done to hide tears at all."

"I have not heard these old town stories for years. We ought to thank
you heartily," said Miss Barbara, when the battle-ground had been shown
and the club had heard all the interesting things that were known about
the great fight. Then they came back by way of the old family
burying-place and read the quaint epitaphs, which Mr. Picknell himself
had cut deeper and kept from wearing away. It seemed that they never
could forget the old farm's history.

"I maintain that every old place in town ought to have its history
kept," said Mr. Picknell. "Now, you boys and girls, what do you know
about the places where you live? Why don't you make town clerks of
yourselves? Take the edges of almanacs, if you can't get courage to
begin a blank-book, and make notes of things, so that dates will be kept
for those who come after you. Most of you live where your
great-grandfathers did, and you ought to know about the old folks. Most
of what I've kept alive about this old farm I learned from my
great-grandmother, who lived to be a very old woman, and liked to tell
me stories in the long winter evenings, when I was a boy. Now we'll go
and see where the beavers used to build, down here where the salt water
makes up into the outlet of the brook. Plenty of their logs lay there
moss-covered, when I was a grown man."

Somehow the getting acquainted with each other in a new way was the best
part of the club, after all. It was quite another thing from even
sitting side by side in school, to walk these two or three miles
together. Betty Leicester had taught her Tideshead cronies something of
her own lucky secret of taking and making the pleasures that were close
at hand. It was great good fortune to get hold of a common wealth of
interest and association by means of the club; and as Mr. Picknell and
Mi