230 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



woods, placed under it, and under the runners were 

 placed skids. To these runners it was securely 

 chained and pinned ; then the cattle — stags, steers, 

 and oxen, in two long lines, one at each runner — 

 were hitched fast, and, while men and boys aided 

 with great levers, the word to go was given. Slowly 

 the two lines of bulky cattle straightened and set- 

 tled into their bows; the big chains that wrapped 

 the runners tightened, a dozen or more "gads" 

 were nourished, a dozen or more lusty throats urged 

 their teams at the top of their voices, when there 

 was a creak or a groan as the building stirred. 

 Then the drivers redoubled their efforts; there was 

 a perfect Babel of discordant sounds; the oxen bent 

 to the work, their eyes bulged, their nostrils dis- 

 tended; the lookers-on cheered, and away went the 

 old house or barn as nimbly as a boy on a hand- 

 sled. Not always, however; sometimes the chains 

 would break, or one runner strike a rock, or bury 

 itself in the earth. There were generally enough 

 mishaps or delays to make it interesting. 



In the section of the State of which I write, flax 

 used to be grown, and cloth for shirts and trowsers, 

 and towels and sheets, etc., woven from it. It was 

 no laughing matter for the farm-boy to break in his 

 shirt or trowsers those days. The hair shirts in 

 which the old monks used to mortify the flesh could 

 not have been much before them in this mortifying 

 particular. But after the bits of shives and sticks 

 were subdued, and the knots humbled by use and 

 the washboard, they were good garments. If you 



