276 The Winning of the West 



a johnny-cake, on a clean ash board, set before the 

 fire to bake ; a frying pan, with its long handle rest- 

 ing on a split-bottom turner's chair, sending out its 

 peculiar music, and the tea-kettle swung from a 

 wooden lug pole, with myself setting the table or 

 turning the meat, or watching the johnny-cake, 

 while she sat nursing the baby in the corner and 

 telling the little ones to hold still and let their sister 

 Lizzie dress them. Then came blowing the conch- 

 shell for father in the field, the howling of old Lion, 

 the gathering round the table, the blessing, the dull 

 clatter of pewter spoons and pewter basins, the talk 

 about the crop and stock, the inquiry whether Dan'l 

 (the boy) could be spared from the house, and the 

 general arrangements for the day. Breakfast over, 

 my function was to provide the sauce for dinner; 

 in winter, to open the potato or turnip hole, and 

 wash what I took out; in spring, to go into the field 

 and collect the greens; in summer and fall, to ex- 

 plore the truck patch, our little garden. If I after- 

 ward went to the field my household labors ceased 

 until night; if not, they continued through the day. 

 As often as possible mother would engage in mak- 

 ing pumpkin pies, in which I generally bore a part, 

 and one of these more commonly graced the supper 

 than the dinner table. My pride was in the labors 

 of the field. Mother did the spinning. The stand- 

 ing dye-stuff was the inner bark of the white walnut, 

 from which we obtained that peculiar and perma- 

 nent shade of dull yellow, the butternut [so common 

 and typical in the clothing of the backwoods farm- 



