Driven Back to Eden by Edward Payson Roe — Read

November weather was occasionally so blustering and stormy that I turned schoolmaster in part, to relieve my wife. During the month, however, were bright, genial days, and others softened by a smoky haze, which gave me opportunity to gather and store a large crop of turnips, to trench in my celery on a dry knoll, and to bury, with their heads downward, all the cabbages for which I could not find a good market. The children still gave me some assistance, but, lessons over, they were usually permitted to amuse themselves in their own way. Winnie, however, did not lose her interest in the poultry, and Merton regularly aided in the care of the stock and in looking after the evening supply of firewood. I also spent a part of my time in the wood lot, but the main labor there was reserved for December. The chief task of the month was the laying down and covering of the tender raspberries; and in this labor Bagley again gave me his aid.

Thanksgiving Day was celebrated with due observance. In the morning we all heard Dr. Lyman preach, and came home with the feeling that we and the country at large were prosperous. Mr. and Mrs. Jones, with Junior, dined with us in great state, and we had our first four-course dinner since arriving in Maizeville, and at the fashionable hour of six in the evening. I had protested against my wife's purpose of staying at home in the morning, saying we would "browse around during the day and get up appetites, while in the afternoon we could all turn cooks and help her. " Merton was excepted, and, after devouring a hasty cold lunch, he and Junior were off with their guns. As for Bobsey, he appeared to browse steadily after church, but seemed in no wise to have exhausted his capacity when at last he attacked his soup, turkey drumstick, and the climax of a pudding. Our feast was a very informal affair, seasoned with mirth and sauced with hunger. The viands, however, under my wife's skill, would compare with any eaten in the great city, which we never once had regretted leaving. Winifred looked after the transfers from the kitchen at critical moments, while Mousie and Winnie were our waitresses. A royal blaze crackled in the open fireplace, and seemed to share in the sparkle of our rustic wit and unforced mirth, which kept plump Mrs. Jones in a perpetual quiver, like a form of jelly.