n some respects bettered them. I
outdid them in mischief, looted the best apple trees, beat them at ball
and managed to escape my tasks oftener. My work was stitching the
counters of boots; my mother and sister filled their spare time with the
same employment. Indeed, at this period it was our sole means of
support. The making of boots, pegged boots, double soled and welted,
with legs treed until they were as stiff and hard as boards, was the
chief occupation of all that portion of the town called Hayden Row. For
a mile or more up and down this street were the houses of the
bootmakers, each with its little shop, either attached to the house, or
built in the yard. Each had from two to six workers. Generally every
part of the boot was made in these shops; the stock was cut and
distributed from some larger shop to which the finished boots were
returned to be put in cases and shipped. The smaller shops were the
centers for the gossip, rumors and discussions which agitated the
community. There men sharpened their wits upon each other, played
practical jokes, sang, argued the questions of that day, especially
slavery, and arranged every week from early spring to late autumn a
match game of ball either among themselves or the bootmakers of
neighboring towns for Saturday afternoon, which was their half holiday.
All this was possible where the men sat on low benches, making scarcely
any noise, and doing work which did not often require concentrated
attention. My uncle was a stern abolitionist, as were the other
bootmakers; and before I knew it, I was one; nor did I know at that time
that there was any other opinion in the world. Little did I understand
or care for the subject. My uncle took the Liberator, and it was
sometimes read aloud in the shop, and I can remember feeling angry at
some of the stories of cruelty to slaves. I am glad I was brought up in
such an atmosphere, for I have not changed on this point, as I have in
so many other of my beliefs. The only church in the place was the
Methodist, and my mother had, almost for the first time since her
conversion at the age of fourteen, an opportunity of mingling with the
brethren and sisters of her own faith. The chief financial pillar of the
Methodists of New England, Lee Claflin, was a citizen of Hopkinton,
although his place of business was Boston. He was, when I knew him, a
rather short, fat man with a large head and a face beaming with
benevolence and good will. To be not