50 THE FALL OF THE YEAR 



But wood and warmth and sweet smells were not 



all. There was music also, the music of life, of young 



life and of old life grandparents, grandchildren 



s (about twenty-eight of the latter). There were seven 



- of us alone a girl at each end of the seven and 

 , one in the middle. Thanksgiving always found us 



, / all at Grandfather's and brimming full of thanks. 



That, of course, was long, long ago. Things are 

 V x /, different nowadays. There are as many grandfathers, 

 Sfl suppose, as ever ; but they don't make brooms in 

 J^the winter and live on farms. 



r They live in flats. The old farm with its open acres 



'* ''has become a city street ; the generous old farmhouse 



v v*has become a speaking-tube, kitchenette, and bath 



all the " modern conveniences " ; the cows have evapo- 



N V: rated into convenient cans of condensed "milk" ; the 



.ten-barrel box of potatoes has changed into a conven- 



': ient ten-pound bag, the wood-pile into a convenient 



.^five-cent bundle of blocks tied up with a tarred string, 



- the fireplace into a convenient gas log, the seven 



- children into one or none, or into a little bull-terrier 

 pup. 



But is it so ? No, it is not so not so of a million 

 . homes. For there is many an old-fashioned farm- 

 house still in the country, and many a new-fashioned 

 -city house where there are more human children than 

 little bull-terrier pups. 



And it is not so in my home, which is neither a 

 real farm nor yet a city home. For here are some 



