Heredity 



of ideas. On her left side, the distaff, with its 

 load of flax; in her right hand, the spindle 

 turning under a quick twist of her thumb, 

 moistened at intervals with her tongue : so she 

 went through life, unweariedly, attending to 

 the order and the welfare of the house. I see 

 her in my mind's eye particularly on winter 

 evenings, which were more favourable to 

 family-tallc. When the hour came for meals, 

 all of us, big and little, would take our seats 

 round a long table, on a couple of benches, 

 deal planks supported by four rickety legs. 

 Each found his wooden bowl and his tin 

 spoon in front of him. At one end of the table 

 always stood an enormous rye-loaf, the size of 

 a cartwheel, wrapped in a linen cloth with a 

 pleasant smell of washing, and remained until 

 nothing was left of it. With a vigorous 

 stroke, grandfather would cut off enough for 

 the needs of the moment; then he would di- 

 vide the piece among us with the one knife 

 which he alone was entitled to wield. It was 

 now each one's business to break up his bit 

 with his fingers and to fill his bowl as he 

 pleased. 



Next came grandmother's turn. A capa- 

 cious pot bubbled lustily and sang upon the 

 flames in the hearth, exhaling an appetizing 



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