COMMUTER'S THANKSGIVING 221 



lot — had shuffled into its greatcoat, its n . 

 and muffetees, and settled comfortably down foi 

 the winter. 



The old farmhouse was an invitation to winter. 

 It looked itsjoy atthe prospect ofthecoming cold 

 Low, weather-worn, mossy-shingled, secluded in 

 its wayward garden of box and bleeding-hearts, 

 sheltered by its tall pines, grape-vined, hop-vined, 

 clung to by creeper and honeysuckle, it stood 

 where the roads divided, halfway between every- 

 where, unpainted, unpretentious, as much a part 

 of the landscape as the muskrat-lodge; and, like 

 the/ lodge, roomy, warm, and hospitable. 



Round at the back, under the wide, open shed, 

 a door led into the kitchen, another led into the 

 living-room, another into the storeroom, and two 

 big, slanting double-doors, scoured and slippery 

 with four generations of sliders, covered the cav- 

 ernous way into the cellar. But they let the smell 

 of apples up, as the garret door let the smell of 

 sage and thyme come down; while from the 

 door of the storeroom, mingling with the odor of 

 apples and herbs, filling the whole house and 

 all my early memories, came the smell ot broom- 

 corn, came the sound of grandfather's loom. 



