Seeley, and the first male teacher was Mason Noble, who was supplying our pulpit when the old church on the hill burned down. The little school-house also served the purpose of a Buxton Church, where Sunday evening meetings were held by Anthony Sanders, with Justin Ford as chorister. Sometimes Professor Albert Hopkins would come up and take charge of the meetings, when the little house would be packed, with a narrow passage left him to reach his chair, when he would look around with those deep-set black eyes of his upon that little hive of human beings, and with the spirit of the Master upon him, would give us such a discourse as could come from none other than him, aroused by the wants of the little compact company around him.

Santa Claus was very poor in those days, and the boys and girls did not find waiting for them in the early dawn of Christmas morning, sleds and skates for winter use. Each boy made his own sled. Not any rippers or double runners gladdened our eyes. The first skates I had, I made the woods and straps and fitted the same to an old pair of skate irons I purchased for six cents, and they were hard looking instruments to glide over the ice on, still the best I had or could procure under the circumstances.

In the fall father would gather in from the tannery sides of upper leather and sole leather, as the farmers used to take the hides they took from the cattle and

other beasts they killed to the tannery to be dressed and made into leather for family use, and old Rube Peters would be brought to the house with his bench and kit and shoe up the family for the winter campaign; and when the cloth was made ready, Nancy would come with her goose to make the boys' clothes. I would most always have to go to the last place she worked for the goose. Why it was called a goose I never knew. Nancy never carried any tape measure. (I presume there were none in those days.) She used to take the old Pittsfield Sun, (which was the only paper my father took in those days, and which he continued until his death) and cut into strips, and stitching the strips together, would measure me for trousers and coat, (didn't have vests,) commencing at bottom of leg up to knee, then double one over the strip and cut a notch and so on, as she turned a corner. The suit fitted all around and was roomy and good, and I felt good with my new suit of sheep's gray; and when the seat and knees wore through, (as they will on a tearing boy) patches of the same cloth would be put on by the weary and loving mother, lighted by a tallow dip at night, while the tearing boy was asleep, to be ready for him when he awoke the next morning. The patches would not often match in color, as the long exposure of trousers to the elements would fade them much. Now and then a dressmaker would come in and fit out the girls with

their go-to-meeting clothes, but their everyday clothes they fitted and made themselves. Those were days of self-help. There was work to do and it was done.

In early spring my old winter shoes were laid aside, and I went barefoot till fall. Sometimes I was afflicted with a stone-bruise on my heel, and would be put to the inconvenience of going tip-toe, which is the sign of a good dancer. Many a time when I drove up the cows from the meadows in the early frosty mornings in the fall, I would start up the cows and stand and warm my feet on the bed of earth which the cows had warmed. During my early boyhood my father kept a dairy of some thirty cows, and it was my duty to go after the cows at night. The pasture was large, extending over the hills, interspersed with much forest and openings here and there and ending at the Prindle orchard. This orchard produced much choice fruit, and, knowing the location of the early and late fruit trees, I would leap over the fence and fill my pockets, boy-like, having no fear of that kind of pilfering or idea it was wrong to pocket a few apples from a large orchard. This orchard was set out by the Prindle brothers many years before, about a mile from their house on the eastern boundary of their farm, and it was always a mystery to me why they located such a fine fruit orchard so far from their dwelling. I presume it was to get a southern exposure, and on land least valuable

for farming purposes. William B. Sherman and Robins Bulkley set orchards at the same time, but near their dwellings. These old orchards have mostly disappeared, but now and then an old trunk remains. The Sherman orchard was the boy rogue's pilfering ground, and the hired men from the various farms used to make the mow of fresh mown hay redolent with the fragrance of early harvest apples therein concealed.

CHAPTER II.

WHAT IT COST TO BUILD A HOUSE-SOME OF THE OLD HOUSES AND OLD FAMILIES-CARRYING WATER AND TAKING APPLES FOR PAY-STARTING A BALKY HORSE- JAMES WATERMAN'S LEGACY-THE BLESSING BEFORE LUNCH.

In the year 1835, my father built a new house on one of the house lots north of Main Street, the family having outgrown the old resting place. IIe contracted with a man by the name of Atwood to build the same, price $300 and board of himself and workmen, taking the framing timbers in the rough, hew and frame the same, make all the doors and window sash (as there were not any sash and door factories at that time) and finish the house outside and in as to wood work, my father furnishing the material. Atwood employed some four men, their wages being seventy-five cents per day, and they worked from dawn to dark. rest of the evening they spent in the street sitting on the logs telling stories, of which the boss had a fund, and it was great fun for me, a boy, to listen to them.

The

That fall we abandoned the old house as a home and settled in the new, and the old house with part of the farm was rented, and, not being kept in proper repair, it became much run down, and at my father's