50 HAPPY HOLLOW FARM 



that didn't work at all. Everything was 

 wringing wet. In the middle of the night we 

 turned out and ran for the empty granary. 

 That shelter was just a degree or two better 

 than none. The chinking was gone from the 

 rough log walls, and the roof was shingled with 

 homemade oak "shakes," now pretty well 

 rotted away. The place wasn't dry, not by a 

 long chalk. We sat on bundles of old corn 

 fodder laid upon the floor where the leaks were 

 least, drew our knees up under our chins and 

 held umbrellas over us. It wasn't the least bit 

 like living in town. If we had only thought 

 so, we'd have been very uncomfortable ; but it 

 didn't seem to occur to us. In her corner I 

 heard Laura making jokes with little Peggy. 

 They were laughing together and "making 

 believe" under their umbrella. Pretty soon 

 Laura began to quote verse: ". . . and the 

 cares that infest the day shall fold their tents 

 . . ." Then Mother told us some stories of 

 the days of her girlhood in the Cumberland 

 hills of Pennsylvania tales of real hardship 

 bravely borne, in a time when that country, too, 

 was half wild. There was no going to sleep 

 any more that night. 



It didn't matter. We didn't want to go to 



