There are no lamps or candles, but the red light from the burning pine knots on the hearth glows over all, repeating, in fantastic pantomime on the brown walls and closed shutters, the varied activities around it. These are occasionally brought into a higher relief by the white flashes, as the boys throw handfuls of hickory shavings on to the fore-stick, or punch the back-log with the long iron peel, while wishing they had "as many shillings as sparks go up chimney." Then, the smoke-stained joists and boards of the ceiling, with the twisted rings of pumpkin, strings of crimson peppers, and festoons of apple, drying on poles hung beneath; the men's hats, the crook-necked squashes, the skeins of thread and yarn hanging in bunches on the wainscot; the sheen of the pewter plates and basins, standing in rows on the shelves of the dresser; the trusty firelock, with powder-horn, bandolier, and bullet-pouch, hanging on the summer-tree, and the bright brass warming-pan behind the bedroom door--all stand more clearly revealed for an instant, showing the provident care for the comfort and safety of the household. Dimly seen in the corners of the room are baskets in which are packed hands of flax from the barn, where, under the flax-brake, the swingling-knife and coarse hackle, the shives and swingling tow have been removed by the men; to-morrow the more deft manipulations of the women will prepare these bunches of fibre for the little wheel, and granny will card the tow into bats, to be spun into tow yarn on the big wheel. All quaff the sparkling cider or foaming beer, from the briskly-circulating pewter mug, which the last out of bed in the morning must replenish from the barrel in the cellar. But over all a grave earnestness prevails; there is little laughter or mirth, and no song to cheer the tired workers. If stories are told they are of Indian horrors, of ghosts, or of the fearful pranks of witchcraft.