THANKSGIVING AT GRANDFATHER'S 49 



four generations of sliders, covered the cavernous 

 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 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. 



