BUILDING THE HOUSE. 
47 
bers on one side, leaving the rest of the bark on, so that 
they were just as straight and much stronger than sawed 
ones. Each stick was carefully mortised or tenoned by 
its stump, for I had borrowed other tools by this time. 
My days in the woods were not very long ones; yet I 
usually carried my dinner of bread and butter, and 
read the newspaper in which it was wrapped, at noon, 
sitting amid the green pine boughs which I had cut off, 
and to my bread was imparted some of their fragrance, 
for my hands were covered with a thick coat of pitch. 
Before I had done I was more the friend than the foe 
of the pine tree, though I had cut down some of them, 
having become better acquainted with it. Sometimes 
a rambler in the wood was attracted by the sound of my 
axe, and we chatted pleasantly over the chips which I 
had made. 
By the middle of April, for I made no haste in my 
work, but rather made the most of it, my house was 
framed and ready for the raising. I had already bought 
the shanty of James Collins, an Irishman who worked on 
the Fitchburg Bailroad, for boards. James Collins’ 
shanty was considered an uncommonly fine one. When 
X called to see it he was not at home. I walked about 
the outside, at first unobserved from within, the window 
was so deep and high. It was of small dimensions, with 
a peaked cottage roof, and not much else to be seen, the 
dirt being raised five feet all around as if it were a 
compost heap. The roof was the soundest part, though 
a good deal warped and made brittle by the sun. Door- 
sill there was none, but a perennial passage for the 
hens under the door board. Mrs. C. came to the door 
and asked me to view it from the inside. The hens 
were driven in by my approach. It was dark, and had 
