“I don’t mean to miss it,” I declared. “Don’t you worry, you two.” Jim wasn’t at home. I made a point of going while he was down at Lee with some timber. He never would have let me go in peace. I was not at all afraid. Indeed, I was very happy. I grew up on the road, as you remember, Carin. It isn’t as if I always had been house-bound. The woods were very still and lovely, with gray veils falling in among the trees, and the distance all hidden. The great tree trunks with their green moss and their lichen looked beautiful. I had been feeling a little gray in my mind, and the day just suited me. By noon, though, I was chilly and rather miserable, though my raincoat kept me dry enough. But I was longing for a house, as you may well imagine, and just then, sure enough, I saw a tiny cabin in a clearing. I slipped off Paprika, and knocked at the door. No one answered. A smell of wood smoke came out from the chimney and I knew there was a fire inside, and I did want awfully to sit by it. Really, my teeth were chattering. So I tried the door. It was not locked, and I went in and crouched before the fire in the great blackened fireplace. It was very homy, with its great kettle of soup hanging over the coals, and its comfortable mountain chairs, thickly padded with cushions covered with butternut homespun. There were braided rugs on the floor, and in the darkest corner, one lofty bedstead with posts and a wonderful pieced bedquilt. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that everything was _outrageously_ clean, but on the other hand, it was not disagreeably unclean—just an easy medium. Anyway, the fire was a blessing and the soup a temptation. So what do you think I did? Yielded to temptation, of course. I dished myself out a good helping of the soup, took some of my own bread from my lunch box, and ate till I was satisfied. Meantime, I had got as warm as toast and felt as if I had lived in that house forever. Then I took a little snapshot picture of myself from my notebook and laid it on the table with some loaf sugar, some coffee and a fine piece of Mother McBirney’s honey cake, and wrote: _This is the picture of the girl who sat by your fire and ate some of your soup_. _It is the first time she ever helped herself to anything_, _but she enjoyed it so much that she means to stop again the next time she is passing and see if there is some more of that delicious soup and to ask how it is made_. _Here are some little presents_, _which please accept_. _Azalea McBirney_. Well, this is just an incident, and I only mention it to show you what a happy time I had at the beginning. I could not dream how things would change with me.