xt morning not one of us could think of food. All our
desires converged upon the wondrous expedition--our first visit to town.

Our only carriage was still the lumber wagon but it had now two spring
seats, one for father, mother and Jessie, and one for Harriet, Frank and
myself. No one else had anything better, hence we had no sense of being
poorly outfitted. We drove away across the frosty prairie toward
Osage--moderately comfortable and perfectly happy.

Osage was only a little town, a village of perhaps twelve hundred
inhabitants, but to me as we drove down its Main Street, it was almost
as impressive as LaCrosse had been. Frank clung close to father, and
mother led Jessie, leaving Harriet and me to stumble over nail-kegs and
dodge whiffle trees what time our eyes absorbed jars of pink and white
candy, and sought out boots and buckskin mittens. Whenever Harriet spoke
she whispered, and we pointed at each shining object with cautious
care.--Oh! the marvellous exotic smells! Odors of salt codfish and
spices, calico and kerosene, apples and ginger-snaps mingle in my mind
as I write.

Each of us soon carried a candy marble in his or her cheek (as a
chipmunk carries a nut) and Frank and I stood like sturdy hitching posts
whilst the storekeeper with heavy hands screwed cotton-plush caps upon
our heads,--but the most exciting moment, the crowning joy of the day,
came with the buying of our new boots.--If only father had not insisted
on our taking those which were a size too large for us!

They were real boots. No one but a Congressman wore "gaiters" in those
days. War fashions still dominated the shoe-shops, and high-topped
cavalry boots were all but universal. They were kept in boxes under the
counter or ranged in rows on a shelf and were of all weights and degrees
of fineness. The ones I selected had red tops with a golden moon in the
center but my brother's taste ran to blue tops decorated with a golden
flag. Oh! that deliciously oily _new_ smell! My heart glowed every time
I looked at mine. I was especially pleased because they did _not_ have
copper toes. Copper toes belonged to little boys. A youth who had
plowed seventy acres of land could not reasonably be expected to dress
like a child.--How smooth and delightfully stiff they felt on my feet.

Then came our new books, a McGuffey reader, a Mitchell geography, a
Ray's arithmetic, and a slate. The books had a delightful new smell
also, and there was singular charm