MY VINEYARD. 23 



up the memories of other days. There is the glowing fire 

 before us, and the noisy wind without, but they seem less 

 real than the memories of earlier years. Shadowy in- " 

 deed, but once more with us, the boy companions of the . 

 long ago. Over the hills in our boyish sport, and through 

 the groves to the clear waters of the little brook. And 

 the old school-house, with its happy hours, and its irksome 

 tasks, and its rewards for truant deeds. And the old 

 church bell, now ringin'g out its merry peal, and now toll- 

 ing, tolling. And other forms are seen, venerable and 

 bowed with age ; but these are gone to the other shore, 

 leaving a pang which time does not efface. — 



" This shall be the home-room," exclaimed my wife on 

 surveying the room I have described ; " the library, and 

 parlor, and sitting-room, all in one. Here is just the place 

 for the book-case, there for the lounge, and the walls wiU 

 accommodate all of our favorite pictures. And this cor- 

 ner between the book case and the fire looks as though 

 designed expressly for your old" arm chair." And to this 

 ordering of the " home room " I did not in the least de- 

 mur. 



The house needed but few repairs. A little additional 

 mortar between the logs, newly papering all the rooms 

 and painting the wood- work, a few repairs in windows and 

 doors, were tasks easily performed, and we were comfort- 

 ably and cosily settled in our new home. Those were 

 happy years which we spent in the old log house. When 



