How plainly I can see it now! The plain house with its gambrel roof and double front-doors kept secure by a stout oak bar resting in sockets of iron; the narrow front hall, the family sitting-room on one side, with the east door opening on the grassy yard; and the wide stone steps, our only piazza. The parlor was on the west of the hall, with its ingrain carpet and plain furniture, which then seemed quite fine to my childish eyes. The best bed standing in the corner with the heavy English counterpane was one of the conspicuous features of the room. Behind was the long kitchen with its great fireplace, my mother's bedroom at one end, and a smaller one for the children at the other. Plain and simple, indeed, and even bare as compared with the homes of these days, as was this home of our childhood, it was "sweet home" to us, for it was bright with the love that made our lives all sunshine, and peace and contentment were our constant guests. Two large buttonwood trees stood at the front gate, up to which led some stone steps. By the street was an open shed under which wagons could drive, and beyond was the garden with the great apple tree at the top of it, flanked by peach trees, whose fruit was "sweet to our taste." Behind the house was the well with its long sweep and its "oaken bucket," which was our only refrigerator. It sometimes befell that a luckless pail of cream or butter fell to the bottom. Then one of the children was despatched in haste over the fields to borrow neighbor Bissel's iron creepers, and great was the excitement as we watched the grappling which surely brought up the pail, if not always the contents. There, too, was the old pear tree, in the back garden, whose fruit was so delicious as we ran out in the early morning to gather what had fallen during the night; and the orchard with its long grass, often trampled in our hasty search for the "golden sweets" which strewed the ground. The hill rising at the back of it was crowned with the fine spreading chestnut trees, which were such a joy to us in the autumn when the frost had opened the burs and strewed the brown nuts on the ground. Behind the house was the barn, with the cow which we early learned to milk, and the white horse which carried the family to church on Sunday, and my father on his semi-weekly journeys to the post office in Hopmeadow. For daily mails were unknown in the peaceful valley then. The yellow stage rumbled through the streets on its semi-weekly trip from Hartford and was hailed with joy as a messenger from the great world beyond.