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Travels；〃 the 〃Arabian Nights；〃 and some odd volumes of Sir Walter Scott's novels。
I read the 〃Scottish Chiefs〃my first novel when I was about five years old。 So absorbed was I in the sorrows of Lady Helen Mar and Sir William Wallace； that I crept into a corner where nobody would notice me； and read on through sunset into moonlight； with eyes blurred with tears。 I did not feel that I was doing anything wrong； for I had heard my father say he was willing his daughters should read that one novel。 He probably did not intend the remark for the ears of his youngest； however。
My appetite for reading was omnivorous； and I devoured a great many romances。 My sisters took them from a circulating library； many more； perhaps； than came to my parents' knowledge； but it was not often that one escaped me； wherever it was hidden。 I did not understand what I was reading； to be sure； and that was one of the best and worst things about it。 The sentimentalism of some of those romances was altogether unchildlike； but I did not take much of it in。 It was the habit of running over pages and pages to get to the end of a story； the habit of reading without caring what I read； that I know to have been bad for my mind。 To use a nautical expression； my brain was in danger of getting 〃water… logged。〃 There are so many more books of fiction written nowadays； I do not see how the young people who try to read one tenth of them have any brains left for every…day use。
One result of my infantile novel…reading was that I did not like to look at my own face in a mirror； because it was so unlike that of heroines； always pictured with 〃high white foreheads〃 and 〃cheeks of a perfect oval。〃 Mine was round； ruddy； and laughing with health； and； though I practiced at the glass a good deal； I could not lengthen it by puckering down my lips。 I quite envied the little girls who were pale and pensive…looking； as that was the only ladyfied standard in the romances。 Of course； the chief pleasure of reading them was that of identifying myself with every new heroine。 They began to call me a 〃bookworm〃 at home。 I did not at all relish the title。
It was fortunate for me that I liked to be out of doors a great deal； and that I had a brother； John； who was willing to have me for an occasional companion。 Sometimes he would take me with him when be went huckleberrying； up the rural Montserrat Road； through Cat Swamp； to the edge of Burnt Hills and Beaver Pond。 He had a boy's pride in explaining these localities to me； making me understand that I had a guide who was familiar with every inch of the way。 Then； charging me not to move until he came back； he would leave me sitting alone on a great craggy rock； while he went off and filled his basket out of sight among the bushes。 Indeed； I did not want to move； it was all so new and fascinating。 The tall pine…trees whispering to each other across the sky…openings above me； the graceful ferns； the velvet mosses dotted with scarlet fairy…cups； as if the elves had just spread their table for tea； the unspeakable charm of the spice…breathing air； all wove a web of enchantment about me； from which I had no wish to disentangle myself。 The silent spell of the woods held me with a power stronger even than that of the solemn…voiced sea。 Sometimes this same brother would get permission to take me on a longer excursion；to visit the old homestead at 〃The Farms。〃 Three or four miles was not thought too long a walk for a healthy child of five years； and that road； in the old time； led through a rural Paradise； beautiful at every season；whether it were the time of song…sparrows and violets； of wild roses； of coral…hung barberry…bushes； or of fallen leaves and snow…drifts。 The wildness of the road； now exchanged for elegant modern cultivation； was its great charm to us。 We stopped at the Cove Brook to hear the cat…birds sing； and at Mingo's Beach to revel in the sudden surprise of the open sea； and to listen to the chant of the waves； always stronger and grander there than anywhere along the shore。 We passed under dark wooded cliffs out into sunny openings； the last of which held under its skirting pines the secret of the prettiest woodpath to us in all the world； the path to the ancestral farmhouse。
We found children enough to play with there；as numerous a family as our own。 We were sometimes； I fancy； the added drop too much of already overflowing juvenility。 Farther down the road； where the cousins were all grown…up men and women； Aunt Betsey's cordial； old…fashioned hospitality sometimes detained us a day or two。 We watched the milking； and fed the chickens； and fared gloriously。 Aunt Betsey could not have done more to entertain us； had we been the President's children。
I have always cherished the memory of a certain pair of large… bowed spectacles that she wore； and of the green calash； held by a ribbon bridle； that sheltered her head； when she walked up from the shore to see us； as she often did。 They announced to us the approach of inexhaustible kindliness and good cheer。 We took in a home…feeling with the words 〃Aunt Betsey〃 then and always。 She had just the husband that belonged to her in my Uncle David； an upright man； frank…faced； large…hearted； and spiritually minded。 He was my father's favorite brother； and to our branch of the family 〃The Farms〃 meant 〃Uncle David and Aunt Betsey。〃
My brother John's plans for my entertainment did not always harmonize entirely with my own ideas。 He had an inventive mind； and wanted me to share his boyish sports。 But I did not like to ride in a wheelbarrow； nor to walk on stilts； nor even to coast down the hill on his sled and I always got a tumble； if I tried； for I was rather a clumsy child； besides； I much preferred girls' quieter games。
We were seldom permitted to play with any boys except our brothers。 I drew the inference that our boys must be a great deal better than 〃the other boys。〃 My brother John had some fine play… fellows； but he seemed to consider me in the way when they were his guests。 Occasionally we would forget that the neighbor…boys were not girls； and would find ourselves all playing together in delightful unconsciousness； although possibly a thought； like that of the 〃Ettrick Shepherd；〃 may now and then have flitted through the mind of some masculine juvenile：
〃Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play； Or love to banter and fight so well； That Is the thing I never could tell。〃
One； day I thoughtlessly accepted an invitation to get through a gap in the garden…fence； to where the doctor's two boys were preparing to take an imaginary sleigh…ride in midsummer。 The sleigh was stranded among tall weeds an cornstalks； but I was politely handed in by the elder boy； who sat down by my side and tucked his little brother in front at our feet； informing me that we were father and mother and little son； going to take a ride to Newburyport。 He had found an old pair of reins and tied them to a saw…horse； that he switched and 〃Gee…up〃…ed vigorously。 The journey was as brief as delightful。 I ran home feeling like the heroine of an elopement； asking myself meanwhile； 〃What would my brother John say if he knew I had been playing with boys？〃 He was very particular about his sisters' behavior。 But I incautiously said to one sister in whom I did not usually confide； that I thought James was the nicest boy in the lane； and that I liked his little brother Charles； too。 She laughed at me so unmercifully for making the remark； that I never dared look towards the gap in the fence again； beyond which I could hear the boys' voices around the old sleigh where they were playing； entirely forgetful of their former traveling companion。 Still； I continued to think that my courteous cavalier； James； was the nicest boy in the lane。
My brother's vigilant care of his two youngest sisters was once the occasion to them of a serious fright。 My grandfatherthe sextonsometimes trusted him to toll the bell for a funeral。 In those days the bell was tolled for everybody who died。 John was social； and did not like to go up into the belfry and stay an hour or so alone； and as my grandfather positively forbade him to take any other boy up there； he one day got permission for us two little girls to go with him； for company。 We had to climb up a great many stairs； and the last flight was inclosed by a rough door with a lock inside； which he was charged to fasten； so that no mischievous boys should follow。
It was strange to be standing up there in the air； gazing over the balcony…railing down into the street； where the men and women looked so small； and across to the water and the ships in the east； and the clouds and hills in the west！ But when he struck the tongue against the great bell； close to our ears； it was more than we were prepared for。 The little sister； scarcely three years old； screamed and shrieked；
〃I shall be stunned…ded！ I shall be stunned…ded！〃 I do not know where she had picked up that final syllable； but it made her terror much more emphatic。 Still the great waves of solem
sound went eddying on； over the hills and over the sea； and we had to hear it all； though we stopped our ears with our fingers。 It was an immense relief to us when the last stroke of the passin