brother, and to our branch of the family "The Farms" meant "Uncle David
and Aunt Betsey."

My brother John's plans for my entertainment did not always harmonize
entirely with my own ideas. He had an inventive mind, and wanted me to
share his boyish sports. But I did not like to ride in a wheelbarrow,
nor to walk on stilts, nor even to coast down the hill on his sled and
I always got a tumble, if I tried, for I was rather a clumsy child;
besides, I much preferred girls' quieter games.

We were seldom permitted to play with any boys except our brothers. I
drew the inference that our boys must be a great deal better than "the
other boys." My brother John had some fine play-fellows, but he seemed
to consider me in the way when they were his guests. Occasionally we
would forget that the neighbor-boys were not girls, and would find
ourselves all playing together in delightful unconsciousness; although
possibly a thought, like that of the "Ettrick Shepherd," may now and
then have flitted through the mind of some masculine juvenile:--

"Why the boys should drive away
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,--
That Is the thing I never could tell."

One day I thoughtlessly accepted an invitation to get through a gap in
the garden-fence, to where the doctor's two boys were preparing to take
an imaginary sleigh-ride in midsummer. The sleigh was stranded among
tall weeds an cornstalks, but I was politely handed in by the elder
boy, who sat down by my side and tucked his little brother in front at
our feet, informing me that we were father and mother and little son,
going to take a ride to Newburyport. He had found an old pair of reins
and tied them to a saw-horse, that he switched and "Gee-up"-ed
vigorously. The journey was as brief as delightful. I ran home feeling
like the heroine of an elopement, asking myself meanwhile, "What would
my brother John say if he knew I had been playing with boys?" He was
very particular about his sisters' behavior. But I incautiously said to
one sister in whom I did not usually confide, that I thought James was
the nicest boy in the lane, and that I liked his little brother
Charles, too. She laughed at me so unmercifully for making the remark,
that I never dared look towards the gap in the fence again, beyond
which I could hear the boys' voices around the old sleigh where they
were playing, entirely forgetful of their former traveling companion.
Still, I