Adopting an Abandoned Farm

going,

s, and of vital importance to me, as I was ambitious

proved of invaluable service to me, and the mortality among old people was quite phenomenal at Gooseville and thereabout

t season, and all but two were at

th drawers, little and big, fascinating pigeon holes, and a secret drawer, for two dollars; queer old table, ten cents; good solid chairs, nine cents each; mahogany center-table, one dollar and sixteen cents; and, best of all, a tall and venerable clock for the landing, only eight dollars! Its "innards" sadly demorali

s and their women folks were driving toward the house. A dozen old men, chewing tobacco and looking wise, were in the barn yar

y carved oaken chairs-but these were rare. After the horses have been driven up and down the street, and with the other stock disposed of, it is time for lunch. Following the crowd into the kitchen, you see two barrels of crackers open, a mammoth cheese of the skim-milk species with a big knife by it, and on t

osite flower stand; an immense spinning-wheel looks pretty covered with running vines, an old carriage lantern gleams brightly on my piazza every evening. I nearly bought a horse for fifteen dollars, and did secure a wagon for one dollar and a half, which, after a few needed repairs, costing only twenty-six dollars, was my pride, delight and comfort, and the envy of the neighborhood. Men came from near and far to examine that wagon, felt critically of every wheel,

se in bids from two cents to ten, I cried, "Eleven!" And the gallant old fellow in command roared out as a man opened his mouth for "Twelve!": "I wouldn't bid

old mirrors with the queerest pictures above, brass knockers, candlesticks of queer patterns, cups and saucers and plates, mugs of all sizes, from one generous enough to satisfy the capacities of a lager-soaked Dutchman to a dear little child's mug, evidently once belonging to a se

days of fea

prudence co

gluttony

nt with wha

home from a merry sleigh-ride, or a solemn hour at th

hes live their

had agreed to sell for a profit! How he chuckled as he told of "one of them women who he guessed was a leetle crazy." "Why, jest think on'

ter I had bid on a rag carpet and offered

a million

know-m

st an o

est! Howd

love stories and sich for city

nk shop, felt after two hours of purchase and exploration that they must not keep me waiting any longer, t

rly a yard with his hands. I said I should like to go with him to see it, as I was making a collection of lanterns. He looked rather d

ntiment about their associations

the upper windows gazing curiously on the crowd, wi

red lounge: "Father made me that lounge with his own hands when I's a little girl. He tho't a sight on't it

c representation of crime and horrors and sudden death, as in this quiet country life, the

ermeated, semi-vitalized, so that the chairs, sofas, and tables that have o

must be settled, and auctio

ings, of which I did not know the use or value, and therefore greatly e

a strange place, a room from which many a colonial citizen had passed to take a stroll upon the village street; and here, in sad confusion to be sure, the dishes that graced his breakfast table. The Spectator could have lingered there if alone for half a day, but not willingly for half an hour in such a crowd. The crowd, however, closed every exit and he had to submit. A possible chance to secure some odd bit was his only consolation. Why the good old soul who last occu

n butter knife. I've seen 'em 'afore this. Don't you know in old times it wasn't everybody as had silver, and mahogany knives for butter was put on the table for big folks. We folks each used our own knife.' All this was dribbled into the Spectator's willing ears, and have the relic he would at any cost. Time and again he nervously turned it over to be sure that it was on the table, and so excited another's curiosity. 'What is it?' a second and still older lady asked. 'A colonial butter knife,' the Spectator replied with an air of much antiquarian lore. 'A butter knife! No such thing. My grandfather had one just like this, an

rface with kerosene, and then polished it with flannel. Then warm water and a tooth brush were brought into play, and the oil all removed. Then a long dry polishing, and the restoration was complete. Certainly no other Smalltowner had such a wooden knife; and it was indeed beautiful. Black in a cross light, red in direct light, and kaleidoscopic by gaslight. Ah, such a prize! Th

eddler and a circus clown, with a hint of the forced mirth of the after-dinner speaker. O

hid away by miserly fingers and forgotten. Jake Corey, who was doing some work for me, encouraged me to hope. He said: "I hear ye patronize auctions putty reg'lar; sometimes there is a good deal to be made that way, and then ag'in there isn't. I never had no luck that way, but it's like getting married, it's a

ver heerd tell on-calves with six legs, dogs with three eyes or two tails, steers that could be druv most as well as hosses (Barnum he got hold o' 'em and tuk 'em round with his show); all sorts o' c

fe, a mighty likely woman she is (one o' the Batchelders of Dull Corner), couldn't stand it and went back to her old home