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AROUND AN OLD HOMESTEAD. 



An old log cabin, double-roomed, once stood near 

 the site of the present homestead, in pioneer days, and 

 still another, for temporary occupancy, while the farm- 

 stead was in building. It was in the former of these 

 that grandfather kept all his money, hid behind a loose 

 chunk, or board, in the attic. There was a little square 

 hole left in the logs, on the ground floor, and through 

 this the children used to peep at the travelers along 

 the highway. A path led out to the road, and they 

 crossed the fence by means of a stile. I have recon- 

 structed the old cabin in my thought, surrounded with 

 roses, and with Its clapboard roof, its plowed-and- 

 grooved board floor, and its old-time windows (some 

 of the pioneer cabins boasted puncheon floors, and had 

 tanned deerskins for the panes), and I know of one 

 old man who was born in it who has since become a 

 lawyer and judge in a great city, and whose practice 

 has extended to the highest tribunal in the land, the 

 Supreme Court of the United States at Washington. 



Most of these log cabins of the early settlers have 

 long ago been superseded by more substantial struc- 

 tures; but the attachment of their descendants to these 

 old homesteads has generally kept them in possession 

 of the family line, and each has its legends that go back 

 to the Indians. My grandfather's was located in a 

 region evidently once a favorite haunt of the red man. 

 Flints, even now, are plowed up nearly every year. 

 Indeed, one field used to be so strewn with arrowheads 

 that we thought it must have been the scene of a battle, 

 or at least the site of an encampment. 



Starting from his father's farm, some few miles 

 away, on horseback, with his money In silver In the 



