
          597.

was the reaper and several plows, <s>subjected</s> exposed to the weather,
and allowed to rust and rot.  As there seemed to be nothing
worthy of our attention we returned to the old log hut and finally
to a road, which we <s>th</s> believed led to the Laurel.  On our way to the
hut we passed through a very pretty little ravine, in which we came
to a fine spring.  We walked along the L. road quite a distance
finally turning into a road which led across the railroad.
Close to the railroad we passed an old delapidated house
surrounded by a garden.  In front were the flowers, and in the 
rear and at the side were the vegetables.  We walked in to
pay our respects to the inmates of this humble home.  The
wife, the mother of seven children, was very stout and most slovenly
in appearance; the husband, weather-worn, <s>had</s> presented a far
more genteel appearance.  While Mr. W. spoke to the madam I
spoke to the master of the place.  We spoke about the peaches
and their peculiar off-taste, about the cucumber, and about the 
squashes.  He had growing on his place <s>a</s> pumpkins which he called
Chinese pumpkins.  He said the seeds came from China and had
Chinese letters on them.  To prove this assertion he told his little son to
bring a bag that still <s>had</s> contained a few of them.  When he first
        