ver, forgetful of check-rein and hitching-post. Later, when the three
of them were awake at once, they possessed themselves of the big barn
and explored the stalls and tumbled about on the remnant of hay that
still remained in one of the mows. Then they discovered the brook, where
it flowed clear and cool among the willows at the foot of the door-yard.
It was not deep enough to be dangerous, and they were presently wading
and paddling to their hearts' content.

The brook, in fact, became one of their chief delights. It was never
very warm, but, tempered by August sun and shower, its shady, pleasant
waters were as balm to hot bare legs and burning feet. Flowers of many
kinds grew along its banks, while below the bridge where it crossed the
road there was always a school of minnows eager to be fed, and now and
then one saw something larger dart by--something dark, torpedo-shaped,
swift, touched with white along its propellers--a trout. There is no
end of entertainment in such things. Summer-time, the country, and
childhood--that is a happy combination, and a bit of running water adds
the perfect touch.

II

_Cap'n Ben has an iron door-sill_

We did not take full possession of our place immediately. Whatever we
had in the way of household effects was in a New York City flat, and one
must have a few pots and tin things, even for the simple life. Fortune
was good to us: the Westbury household offered us shelter until we were
ready to make at least a primitive beginning, and one could not ask
better than that. Mrs. Westbury was a famous cook, and Westbury's
religion was conveyed in the word plenty. The hospitality and bounty of
their table were things from another and more lavish generation. The Joy
promptly gave our hosts titles. She called them Man and Lady Westbury,
which somehow seemed exactly to fit them.

Each morning we went up to see what we could find to do, and we never
failed to find plenty. I don't remember distinctly as to all of
Elizabeth's occupations, but I know she has a mania for a broom and a
clothesline. I carry across the years the impression of an almost
continuous sweeping sound--an undertone accompaniment to my discussion
with carpenter and painter--and I see rows of little unpacked dresses
swinging in the sun.

One of my own early jobs was to clean the cellar. It was a sizable
undertaking, and I engaged Old Pop's Sam to help me. It was a cellar of
the oldest pattern, with no step, having an e