came as
clannish as their descendants have been ever since.

The cabin nearest Cedar House contained two rooms, and was used by its
master, Judge Knox, for his own bedroom and law office. There was a
still larger cabin somewhat more distant from the main building, which
was intended for the use of his nephew, William Pressley, on the
marriage of that young lawyer to Ruth. But the wedding was some time off
yet, having been set for Christmas Eve, and the cabin which was to
welcome the bride from Cedar House was not quite complete. The smallest
and the oldest cabin was David's. The long black line of cabins
crouching under the hillside where the shadows were deepest, marked the
quarters of the slaves,--a dark storm-cloud already settling heavily on
the fair horizon of the new state.

Cedar House itself was the grandest of its time in all that country.
Built entirely of huge red cedar logs it was two stories in height, the
first house of more than one story standing on the shores of the
southern Ohio. Its roof was the wonder and envy of the whole region for
many years. The shingles were of black walnut, elegantly rounded at the
butt-ends. They were fastened on with solid walnut pegs driven in holes
bored through both the shingles and the laths with a brace and a bit.
For there was not a nail in Cedar House from its firm foundation to its
fine roof. Even the hinges and the latch of the wide front door were
made of wood. The judge often mentioned this fact with much pride, and
never failed to add that the leathern latch-string always hung outside.
But he was still prouder of the massive, towering chimney of Cedar
House, and with good reason. The other houses thinly scattered through
the wilderness had humble chimneys of sticks covered with clay. The
chimney of Cedar House was of rough stone--of one hundred wagon loads,
as the judge boasted--which had been hauled with great difficulty over a
long distance, because there was none near by.

On the wide hearth of this great chimney a fire was always burning. No
matter what the season or the weather might be, there was always a
solemn ceremony around the hearth when the fire was renewed, at the
beginning and the close of every day all the year round. In winter it
was a glorious bonfire consuming great logs. In summer it was the merest
glimmer that could hold a flickering spark. Between winter and summer,
as on this mild October evening, a bright flame sometimes danced gayly
beh