THANKSGIVING AT GRANDFATHER'S 49 



four generations of sliders, covered the cavernous \ 

 way into the cellar. But they let the smell of apples i 

 up, as the garret door let the smell of sage and thyme 

 come down ; while from the door of the store-room, 

 mingling with the odor of apples and herbs, filling 

 the whole house and all my early memories, came 

 the smell of broom-corn, came the sound of Grand- 

 father's loom. 



For Grandfather in the winter made brooms 

 the best brooms, I think, that ever were made. The 

 tall broom-corn was grown on the farm in the sum- 

 mer, ripened and cut and seeded, and then, as soon 

 as winter set in, was loomed and wired and sewed 

 into brooms. 



But the cured and seeded broom-corn was not the 

 main thing, after all, that was brought in for the 

 winter. Behind the stove in the kitchen, stood the | 

 sweet-potato box (a sweet potato, you know, must 

 be kept dry and warm). An ample, ten-barrel box it 

 was, fresh-papered like the walls, full of Jersey sweets 

 that were sweet long, golden, syrupy potatoes, 

 such as grow only in the warm sandy soil of south- 

 ern New Jersey. 



Against that big box in Grandmother's kitchen 

 stood the sea-chest, fresh with the same kitchen 

 paper and piled with wood- There was another such 

 chest in the living-room near the old fireplace, and 

 still another in Grandfather's work-room behind the 

 "template" stove. 



ii .rv: 



