 |
| Winter Homestead |
There is not a book store for ten miles around, and
when they do go "to town," John Thomas says kindly, "I wouldn't spend
money for books, Maria; buy yourself a gown or a pair of shoes."
And so the winter days go
by. The storehouse contains a barrel of nuts, and another of pop-corn,
and if it is baking day, the men huddle about the stove, and
complacently test the fragrant cakes and pies as they come out of the oven deliciously brown and appetizing.
If the weather is not too
cold for the horses, they decide upon a visit to a friend some miles
distant, and when all are packed up in shawls and blankets, the big
bob-sled, surmounted by the wagon-box, draws up before the house, and
the party clamber in promiscuously, and settle down upon the soft fragrant hay
which makes as soft a cushion as one could wish for. O! there is
nothing so charming as this jolly way of sleigh-riding, which is a
thousand times more smooth and satisfactory than bumping along in a
modern high-backed cutter. If you are cold, just bury your head in "
mother's lap"
and your feet in the section of hay-stack under you, and you won't be so long.
