said: "I guess I can fix things so that you can
get off. Pitch in, work hard, and do some of the stints that father set
you for to-morrow, and I will look after your chores."

By the time mother came to the door and blew the horn for supper, we had
done a great deal of work.

After supper I lit a big pine knot and placed it in the side of the
fireplace, so that the smoke from it would go up the chimney. It threw a
pleasant light out into the room. Father was at work on an ox-bow. John
had a rake into which he was setting some new teeth, and I sat on a
stool with a wooden shovel between my legs, shelling corn; rasping the
ears on the iron edge of the shovel, so that the kernels fell into a big
basket in front of me.

My little brother David was sitting on a bench in the side of the great
fireplace, reading that terrible poem by the Rev. Michael Wigglesworth,
called the "Day of Doom," which tells all about the day of
judgment,--how the sinners are doomed to burn eternally in brimstone;
and the saints are represented as seated comfortably in their armchairs
in heaven, looking down into the sulphurous pit.

I used to wonder how Mr. Wigglesworth got so thorough a knowledge of
these two places and of judgment day, and doubts crept into my mind as
to the accuracy of his description. When I thought of Bishop Hancock
seated in one of those armchairs, I knew that his soul, at least, would
be full of pity and sorrow for the poor sufferers below, and I felt that
the saints ought to be a good deal like him.

I did not envy David his book. It seemed to me that every now and then I
could see his hair rise up and his eyes bulge out with terror.

Mother stood by the woollen wheel, spinning, and my little sister Ruhama
sat near her, knitting.

The fire lit up the room and made the pewter dishes on the dresser
shine.

Above us, hanging from the rafters, were bunches of herbs, crooked-neck
squashes, and poles on which were strung circular slices of pumpkin
which were drying, to be made into sauce in the future.

[Sidenote: THE "DAY OF DOOM"]

David shut up his book, went to mother, and said: "Oh, mother, mother!
I'm scared to death. Do you suppose I've got to go to hell?"

"No, David. You're a good little boy. Just learn your catechism, go to
meeting, and be a good boy, and I guess you'll come out all right."

I remembered well how I felt as I read that book, and the hours of
anguish that it caused me. David got some apples,