The sun had gone down, the cow had been milked and the pigs fed, the hens had all gone to roost, and the two brothers had sauntered towards the river which ran before their dwelling, and taken a seat together on a rock under the branches of a huge oak, of which there were several around the premises. Before them lay, _first_; a gentle slope of short greensward, part of what was known as the town commons, where every body's cow, or pig, or goose, could roam unmolested; beyond _this_ lay a smooth sandy shore, washed by a river, whose waters had not far to go before they mingled with the ocean, or with a large arm of the ocean; along the shore, as far as the eye could reach, was the same, or nearly the same, strip of green commons, dotted here and there with small rude dwellings, the abodes of a few fishermen, who existed on the products of the river that rolled before them; a few small boats lay drawn up on the shore, and occasionally a row of stakes running out into the water, told where the fishermen had planted their nets. The only house in sight that had any appearance of comfort was the one these brothers called their home--a plain one-story building, with a little wing to it; a paling ran in front and around three sides, enclosing the patch of ground used as their garden; a few fine old trees threw their shadows over and around the premises, adding much to the domestic aspect of the place; a pleasant country spread back from the river, and in the distance could be seen here and there the chimney top, or the peaked roof of some obscure dwelling, making no greater pretensions than those described. 'I wonder what Sam Oakum is doing along shore there?' 'Where, Jim?' 'Down by that clump of rocks. Don't you see him?' 'Oh, he is picking up horse-shoes; he has not fed his pigs yet; I suppose his father is drunk to-day, and the pigs are squealing, and Sam has gone to look for something for them to eat; poor fellow!' 'Sam is a clever fellow; I do wish his father would act differently. I cannot see what is to become of him. They who have no father are bad enough off, but I think poor Sam is worse off still.' 'Do you think, Jim, if father had lived, that we should have stayed here?' 'I cannot say--I suppose we should. Why do you ask that question, Ned?' 'Because I think it is a poor place to get a living in; nor do I see how we are going to get along here; it is hard hoeing for it any how.' '_Hard hoeing?_ I don't think so, Ned; it is a great deal harder doing nothing.' 'Perhaps it is; I should like to try it once, and see.' 'I believe it to be true what father often said, that "hard work made short nights and sweet food," and if we should give up work, what would become of mother and Ellen?' 'I will work for them, Jim, as long as I have got any fingers to work with; but we may hoe and hoe here all our lives, and what will it amount to?'