s plenty of game. The swift-footed deer
browsed the tender grass upon the hills. Squirrels chattered in the
trees and the ringdoves cooed in the depths of the forest. The place was
so fertile and fair, so pleasant and peaceful, that the emigrants made
it their home, and called it New Hope.

They built a mill upon the brook. They laid out a wide, level street,
and a public square, erected a school-house, and then a church. One of
their number opened a store. Other settlers came, and then, as the years
passed by, the village rang with the shouts of children pouring from the
school-house for a frolic upon the square. Glorious times they had
beneath the oaks and maples.

One of the jolliest of the boys was Paul Parker, only son of Widow
Parker, who lived in a little old house on the outskirts of the village,
shaded by a great maple. Her husband died when Paul was in his cradle.
Paul's grandfather was still living. The people called him "Old
Pensioner Parker," for he fought at Bunker Hill, and received a pension
from government. He was hale and hearty, though more than eighty years
of age.

The Pensioner was the main support of the family; but by keeping a cow,
a pig, turkeys and chickens, by selling milk and eggs, which Paul
carried to their customers, they brought the years round without running
in debt. Paul's pantaloons had a patch on each knee, but he laughed just
as loud and whistled just as cheerily for all that.

In summer he went barefoot. He did not have to turn out at every
mud-puddle, and he could plash into the mill-pond and give the frogs a
crack over the head without stopping to take off stockings and shoes.
Paul did not often have a dinner of roast beef, but he had an abundance
of bean porridge, brown bread, and milk.

"Bean porridge is wholesome food, Paul," said his grandfather. "When I
was a boy we used to say,--

'Bean porridge hot,
Bean porridge cold,--
Bean porridge best
Nine days old.'

The wood-choppers in winter used to freeze it into cakes and carry it
into the woods. Many a time I have made a good dinner on a chunk of
frozen porridge."

The Pensioner remembered what took place in his early years, but he lost
his reckoning many times a day upon what was going on in the town. He
loved to tell stories, and Paul was a willing listener. Pleasant
winter-evenings they had in the old kitchen, the hickory logs blazing on
the hearth, the tea-kettle singing through its nose, the cl