ates, several
books of mathematics, Plutarch's Lives, a history of Massachusetts,
a leather-bound file of Civil War records, Thackeray's "Vanity Fair",
Shakespeare in two volumes, and the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow." My mother
took a Bible.

I can still quote pages from every one of those books. Until I was
fourteen I saw no others, except a primer, homemade, to teach me my
letters. Because "Vanity Fair" contained simpler words than the others,
it was given me first; so at the age of seven I was spelling out pages
of the immortal Becky.

My mother did not approve, but father laughed and protested that the
child might as well begin with good things.

After mother's eighth and last baby, she lay ill for a year. The care
of the children fell principally on my young shoulders. One day I found
her crying.

"Mary," she said, with a tenderness that was rare, "if I die, you must
take care of all your brothers and sisters. You will be the only woman
within eighteen miles."

I was ten years old.

That night and many other nights I lay awake, trembling at the
possibility of being left the only woman within eighteen miles.

But mother did not die. I must have been a sturdy child; for, with the
little help father and his homestead partner could spare, I kept that
home going until she was strong again.

Every fall the shoemaker made his rounds through the country, reaching
our place last, for beyond us lay only virgin forest and wild beasts.
His visit thrilled us more than the arrival of any king to-day. We had
been cut off from the world for months. The shoemaker brought news from
neighbors eighteen, forty, sixty, even a hundred and fifty miles away.
Usually he brought a few newspapers too, treasured afterward for months.
He remained, a royal guest, for many days, until all the family was
shod.

Up to my tenth birthday we could not afford the newspaper subscription.
But after that times were a little better, and the Boston Transcript
began to come at irregular intervals. It formed our only tie with
civilization, except for the occasional purely personal letter from
"back home."

When I was fourteen three tremendous events had marked my life: sunlight
through a window-pane; the logrolling on the river when father added two
rooms to our cabin; and the night I thought mother would die and leave
me the only woman in eighteen miles.

But the fourth event was the most tremendous. One night father hurried
in witho