Chapter III: Part 3

And yet we did not spend all our time complaining one to another lest on the morrow we should be hungry, and in proof of this I am minded to set down here that which I have copied from the law made in our town four years after we came across from Charlestown:

"That no person, either man or woman, shall hereafter make
or buy any apparel, either woolen, or silk, or linen with
any lace on it, silver, gold, or thread, under the penalty
of forfeiture of said cloths. Also that no person, either
man or woman, shall make or buy any slashed cloths, other
than one slash in each sleeve, and another in the back;
also all cut-works, embroideries, or needle-work,
capbands, and rails are forbidden hereafter to be made and
worn under the aforesaid penalty; also all gold and silver
girdles, hatbands, belts, ruffs, beaver hats are
prohibited to be bought and worn hereafter."

Mother says it is because of our people having given themselves up to vanity that the Lord laid His hand heavily upon us by cutting off the harvest, and yet it seems to me, although I question not that which she has said, that the good God would never punish all our people for the sin which a few committed.

Yet, perhaps, there were more than a few who committed the sin, else why should it have been that our wise men felt it necessary to forbid fanciful dress, as they did in this law which I have set down?

OUR FIRST CHURCH

Not until the second year after Boston was settled, did we have a building devoted entirely to the worship of God. Then was built of logs, neatly hewn and set together with much care, so that both the outside and the inside were smooth and fair to look upon, that which we called our church.

The sides did not stand as tall as some of our dwellings; but the roof was much higher and sharper, so that inside it looked to be very large. There were four windows in each side, and all of them contained glass, if you please.

The pulpit, with a well fashioned sounding-board of odorous cedar above it, stood at the end of the building farthest from the door, and there were near about it eight pews made much after the same shape as those in the church at home. In these sit the magistrates, the elders and the deacons, with the men on one side, the women and girls on the other, and the boys in one corner, where the tithing-men may keep them in order.

Back of these pews were benches sufficient in number to give seats to all our people, and if it could have been that Master Winthrop and those in authority believed we might worship God quite as well while comfortable in body, so that we had a fireplace, it would have delighted me much.

It seems almost a sin to complain because of being cold while one is praising God, and yet during this long, dreary winter when the earth was piled high with snow, and the river imprisoned in ice, it was well nigh impossible, after having remained in the same position two or three hours, to prevent one's teeth from chattering so sharply that the noise might disturb others.

It seems to me that one could enjoy a sermon much better if one were not wishing for the warmth of the fireplace at home.

Many of our people have what is called a foot-stove to take with them to meeting, and it seems to me a most comfortable arrangement; but mother says that if our love of God be not strong enough to prevent discomfort simply because of the frost, when such a man as Master Wilson, or either of the preachers, or Governor Winthrop, is pleased to deliver a sermon, then are we utterly lost.

Susan declares that she _was_ lost the first winter we came here, when her cheeks were frost-bitten during one of Master Winthrop's lectures, which took no more than two hours in the speaking.

These foot-stoves, which I wish most fervently my father would believe we might be permitted to use, are square boxes made of iron, pierced with many tiny holes, and having a handle by which they can be carried. One of these, filled with live coals, will keep warm a very long time, especially if it be covered with skins, and I envy Mistress Winthrop and her daughter, even while knowing how great is the sin, when they sit in the Governor's pew so comfortably warm that there is no fear their teeth will, by chattering, cause unseemly disturbance.

A TROUBLESOME PERSON

There are certain matters concerning which I was minded not to speak, because of their causing both Susan and me very much of sadness at the time, and it has seemed as if I had set down little else except trouble and suffering, whereas there was very much of the time when we of Boston enjoyed our life in the New World.

That some will not live as God would have them, we know only too well, and we found one such among us during the second year after our village was built. Thomas Morton was the person who gave the officers of Boston no little trouble, and in order to tell understandingly the story of what he did, I must go back to that time, two years before we landed here, when the people of Plymouth had cause to complain against this same man.

From what I have heard father say, he had been a lawyer in the city of London, and came over to Plymouth hoping to better his fortunes; but because of not being a God-fearing man, the religious spirit of the colonies was little to his liking.

THE VILLAGE OF MERRY MOUNT

Within five or six miles of where stands our village, had been, a few years before, a settlement which one Captain Wollaston began, and, tiring of the enterprise, went back to England, leaving there some few of his followers, who were ungodly people.

This Thomas Morton, believing himself held in too close restraint at Plymouth, sought out these people at Wollaston, and became one of them, to the shame and reproach of all godly-minded people in this New World. He changed the name of the village to Merry Mount; was chosen leader of the company there, and made of the place a perfect Sodom.

It is said, so I have heard my father say, that they had no religious services, save now and then, when in a spirit of wickedness this Thomas Morton read from the prayer book. He increased the number of his following by enticing the servants away from the good folks of Plymouth.

It gave much offence to them that such a village should be in the land where they had come to set up the true worship of God, therefore Captain Miles Standish, a soldier of Plymouth, went with a force of men to Merry Mount, seized this Thomas Morton, and sent him to England that he might answer for his crimes to the London Company.

PUNISHING THOMAS MORTON

What happened there my father does not know; but certain it is that when the _Lyon_ came on her second voyage, she brought among her passengers this same Thomas Morton, and from the moment he arrived our people had trouble with him.

He brought considerable property in the way of firearms, powder and shot, and, without asking permission from the chief men of our town, set about trading these goods with the Indians for furs, as he had done at Merry Mount, which was not only a menace to all the white people in this new country, because of furnishing the savages with arms that might be used to kill us, but directly against the law which forbade trafficking with the Indians.

He must have been a wicked man indeed, for, not content with doing that which our people had forbidden, he cheated the savages by selling them black sand for powder, and demanding more of furs than was fair and just for such goods as he gave them.

Of course one may think that his crime against us was lessened when he weighed out worthless sand, instead of powder that might be used to our harm; but the chief men of Boston claimed that the savages must be dealt with fairly, otherwise would they look upon us, who were willing to trade honestly, as rogues and thieves.

Therefore it was that our people seized this Thomas Morton, gave him fair trial before the court, and sentenced him to four and twenty hours in the bilboes, after which he was again to be sent as prisoner to England.

It may be that some do not know what bilboes are, and I can explain because of having seen them while they were on Thomas Morton.

A bilboe is a long bar of iron, on which are two heavy clamps, in shape not unlike bracelets which ladies of quality wear upon their arms, fastened by a ring to the bar in such manner that they may slide back and forth. These clamps, or clasps, are placed upon the prisoner's ankles, and pushed apart until his legs are stretched wide. His hands are tied behind his back, and he is forced to sit upon the ground, unable to give relief to his aching limbs, because of the bar's being too weighty for him to move it.

All of Thomas Morton's goods were seized to pay the charges of the trial, and also to make good to the Indians what they had lost through his knavishness. The house which he had built, and it was a fair one made of heavy logs, was burned in the presence of the prisoner and the court, as a sign that we of Boston would not countenance dishonest tricks, even when they were played upon the savages.

PHILIP RATCLIFF'S CRIME

The punishment of Thomas Morton saddened Susan and myself sorely; but not so much as when one Philip Ratcliff was punished.

He was such a wicked man that he went around the town saying he believed the devil was at the head of our church, and in every way casting reproach upon religion, despite the fact of his having been warned again and again that unless he put a bridle to his tongue, punishment would speedily follow.

He did not give heed to the warning, however, and after a time, which was during the third summer of our being in this land, he was brought before the court as one who had cast reproach upon God. For this he was sentenced to be whipped, to have his ears cut off, to be fined forty shillings, and afterward to be banished to England.

Because of this man's being so very, very wicked, Susan and I believed we should go to see him whipped, and gathered with the people at the pillory, where he stood with his neck and arms clutched by the heavy bars of wood; but when Samuel Morgan made ready the heavy whip, just as the man's back was bared to receive the lashes, we turned away in horror, not daring to look.

Father said, when he came home in the evening, that Ratcliff bore the whipping and the ear-cutting without a cry; but when it was over, he threatened vengeance against us, after he should be set free in England, and later we came to know what he meant by such threats.

He went everywhere about in the old country, telling that the New World was a hideous wilderness in which roamed the wildest savages thirsting for the blood of white people; that the land was rocky and barren, and not fit for farms, for no crops could be raised upon it; that the weather was cold, and that the climate caused deathly sickness.

All this, father said, worked to our harm among those godly people who were inclined to join us, for they feared to come into such a place, not understanding that these things were lies which had been told out of a spirit of revenge.

IN THE PILLORY

Another wicked person who had come to Boston was Henry Linn, who was no sooner living among us than he wrote letters to England by every vessel, full of slander against the churches, and of those who took part in the government.

He was forced to stand in the pillory from sunrise to sunset, and was then sent back to England with the warning that if he ever returned, worse punishment would follow.

It has come to my mind that possibly some who read these words may not have seen a pillory, for I am told that there are places in this world where the people so fear God and love their neighbors that there is no need they be punished, therefore will I set down as best I may, a description of that instrument of shame that stands near to where lives Master Wilson.

First a platform of logs is made of such height that he who stands upon it can be seen of all the people, and from the center of this rises a stout log to the height of four feet or more. On the top of the upright timber, and fastened immovable, is a puncheon plank on the upper edge of which are cut three grooves, the middle one large enough to contain a man's neck and the other two his wrists. Now a second plank is fashioned to fit down over the first one, with other grooves in it to match.

Whosoever must be punished is forced to stand upon this platform with his head and arms fastened securely in the holes of the planks, exposed to the view of all the people during so long a time as the sentence demands.

In addition to being a most shameful punishment, it must be exceeding painful, for one may not stand very long in the same position without becoming cramped, and he who is in the pillory cannot move hands or head.

STEALING FROM THE INDIANS

I grieve to say that there were some among our people who seemed to believe there was nothing of crime that could be committed against a savage, and Master Josias Plastow, whom we had ever looked upon as a godly man, showed himself to be knavish where the brown people were concerned.

Chickatabut, the chief of the Massachusetts Indians, of whom I have already spoken, brought proof to Boston that Master Plastow had stolen three half-bushels of corn from some of his people, living near Neponset, and on being charged with the offence by Governor Winthrop, Master Plastow confessed that he had done so, claiming that it was not stealing to take from the savages.

The Governor and his assistants thought differently, though, for Master Plastow was fined five pounds in money, and ordered to send six half-bushels of corn to the Indians from whom he had stolen, after which all people were forbidden to call him Master any more, but must give him only the name of Josias.

Captain Stone believed this sentence to be wrong, and openly called the justice unseemly names. He was straightway summoned before the court, and fined one hundred pounds in money for speaking disrespectfully of one in authority.

Nor was this the only case where fault was found with the punishment inflicted upon Josias. Henry Lyon wrote a letter to a cousin of his in Plymouth, another to a friend in Salem, and sent four to London, all of which were filled with harsh words against the Governor of Boston, and the manner in which justice was dealt out. He was given twelve lashes on the bare back, and banished to England.

THE PASSING OF NEW LAWS

When we had been in this village two years, there was much vexation because of the greater portion of the gold and silver money, which our people had brought with them, having been sent back to England in order to purchase goods there, and the result was that even those who were well off in the things of this world, found themselves unable to pay their debts.

Therefore it was that the court ordered corn to be taken in the stead of gold and silver, unless money, or beaver skins, were set down in the writing as the method of payment agreed upon.

At the same time another law was passed, part of which seemed to bear heavily upon those who were homesick to the point of going back to England, and yet may have offended the officers of the law in some way. It was declared that no person should be allowed to depart out of the town of Boston, either by sea or by land, or to buy goods out of any vessel or of the Indians, without permission from the magistrates.

I know it is not seemly for a girl to question that which her elders have done, and yet there were many times when it seemed to me as if such a law worked injury to us of Boston.

I might not have given so much heed to matters which do not concern girls, but for the fact that Susan's father had crossed the Neck on his way in search of wild animals, and having come some four miles into the forest, he met an Indian who had on his back a half-bushel of corn in a basket.

The savage took a fancy to the girdle he wore, offered to give him the corn, and bring as much more on the following day, if the belt were given to him then.

Susan's father, believing that the law against buying provisions of an Indian would not be carried so far as to prevent a bargain like the one which the savage had offered, stripped off his belt and took the corn.

On coming back to the town, Samuel Goodlove, one of the tithing-men, met him, and asked how it chanced he had set forth in search of wild fowl and brought back corn.

Thinking no harm, Susan's father told all that had been done in the forest, and straightway he was brought before Governor Winthrop, who fined him ten shillings and the corn he had brought on his back four miles, for having offended the law. In addition, he was sentenced to give back to the Indian as much corn as he had taken, but without demanding from him the girdle that had been given over.

MASTER PORMONT'S SCHOOL

Five years after we were settled in this town of Boston, a school was set up for young people, and such children of the Indians as wished to attend were allowed to do so freely without payment, although every white man was forced to pay each year a certain amount, either in money or in goods, for the hire of the teacher, who was Master Philemon Pormont.

It must not be supposed that we children knew nothing whatsoever of reading, writing, or of doing small sums in arithmetic, up to this time. A certain portion of each day did my mother or father teach me my lessons, and when Master Pormont opened his school, I could write as fair a hand as I do now, which seems fortunate, for he was not skilful in teaching the art of writing.

As for myself, I truly believe that had my first lessons in the use of a quill come from him, I had never known how to form a letter, because of his being exceeding harsh in his ways.

A child who failed in doing at the first attempt exactly as Master Pormont thought fit, was given a sharp blow over the knuckles of the hand which held the quill, and Ezra Whitman was punished in this manner so severely on a certain day, that it was nearly a week before he was able to use his fingers. Even then the teacher declared that if the blow had been sharper, the boy would, before the pain had ceased, have known more about that which he was endeavoring to show him.

The school was first set up in the house that had been built by Josias Plastow. If you remember, he was one who had been under the discipline of the court, and it was forbidden any should call him save by the name of Josias.

Feeling that he had been harshly dealt with, Josias left Boston, and went into Plymouth to live, therefore did his dwelling belong to the town, according to the law. It was made into a schoolroom by having benches set up around the four sides, in such fashion that the scholars faced a ledge of puncheon planks, which was built against the walls to be used when we needed a desk on which to write, or to work out sums in arithmetic.

Master Pormont sat upon a platform in the center of the room, where he could keep us children well in view, and woe betide the one who neglected his task, for punishment was certain to follow.

SCHOOL DISCIPLINE

There were times when it seemed to me as if Master Pormont had eyes in the back of his head, for once when I ventured to ask Susan Freeman for the loan of her quill, while he was looking in the opposite direction, I was speedily called to an account for misbehavior. Then it was he handed me a knife he carried in his pocket, and further command was not needed.

I knew full well that I must go outside and cut a stout switch for use upon my own body, and if peradventure I had been so foolish as to bring back a small one, the first would have been used to switch me with until it was broken, after which it was my duty to go for another of more weight.

My hands smarted a full hour after the punishment had been dealt out, and there were such swellings upon them when I got home that mother tied both up in linen after besmearing them plentifully with ointment.

It was not always that Master Pormont used a switch upon a child who had been foolish enough to speak with his neighbor, for he had what were called whispering-sticks, which were most disagreeable to wear, and caused a great deal of pain, so Susan said; but as for myself, I was never forced to bear such punishment.

These whispering-sticks were stout bits of wood from the oak tree, which could not readily be broken by the teeth, and were put into a child's mouth as you thrust a bit into the mouth of a horse, after which the two ends were bound securely back of the neck. Thus the unfortunate one's jaws were stretched wide open, oftentimes for a full hour.

OTHER TOOLS OF TORTURE

It seemed to me then, and does even now, that Master Pormont spent more time devising means of punishment than in teaching us our lessons, for he had as many torture tools of various kinds as would have served to make a heavy load for either of us children.

That which the lads most feared was the flapper, and truly it was well contrived to cause pain. It was a piece of stout deer hide, or thick leather, four or five inches wide, and twice as long, with a hole in the center about as large as the end of my thumb. One end of this was tied to a stout handle, and, when applying it, Master Pormont forced the child who had disobeyed the rules of school, to lie over one of the benches in such a manner that he could come at the lad's bare skin. When the flapper was laid on vigorously, at each blow the flesh would puff up through this hole in the center of the leather, in a way most painful to behold.

There is little need for me to say that Master Pormont had a number of dunce's caps made of bark from the birch tree, on which were painted different inscriptions to suit the offence, such as "Stupid Boy," for one who could not readily answer the questions he asked concerning the day's lessons; "A Silly Dunce," to fit one who was slow in learning; "A Wicked Liar," for some lad who had not told the truth.

In fact, I cannot set down all the names which Master Pormont had written on these dunce's caps, and there was hardly an hour during the day when at least one of them was not in use.

That contrivance which he had for children who would not sit quietly on their benches, was, seemingly, the most innocent, and yet, as I know to my sorrow, caused a vast amount of pain. It was a small square of puncheon plank with a single stick in the center as a leg, and on this the culprit was forced to sit, balancing himself or herself as best might be by the feet, without being allowed to touch the hands to anything.

As I thus set down the poor description it seems a harmless thing, and a punishment too mild to meet a grave offence, but yet if you were to try to balance yourself on this unipod, as Master Pormont called it, for the space of an hour, every joint in your body would cry aloud with pain.

As for myself, I know that more than once I would rather have fallen headlong from this unipod, than have endured the torture a single moment, even had I not known that more severe punishment would follow such a disregard of the rules of school.

DIFFICULT LESSONS

The first lesson which Master Pormont gave to those of us children who could read and write fairly well, was from the Latin grammar, and he required that we have at our tongue's end within the first day, the different forms of no less than six verbs; and this regardless of the fact that we had never so much as put our eyes to the language before!

Do not let it be understood that I am in any way complaining of whatsoever Master Pormont did, for although I could not understand the reason for many of the lessons at that time, there can be no question but that so wise a man as he knew what was best suited for us children.

But surely, to Susan and me, who knew no more of arithmetic than was to be found in the multiplying, dividing, and adding of small sums, it was most grievous work to stumble over such terms as "fret," "tare," and "net," when we had no idea of their meaning.

Nor would Master Pormont give us such information, claiming that we should seek it from our parents, or from other people in the town, to the end that if it was gained by much labor we would the longer remember it.

OTHER SCHOOLS

To me it was a great relief when dame schools were established, and by this term I mean schools that were taught by women.

Some of our more tender-hearted people believed Master Pormont's methods were too harsh for the younger children; therefore, after he had kept school one year, Mistress Sowerby, who was the widow of Master Sowerby who had been assistant in the church at Yarmouth, in England, was hired at the wage of six pounds a year to teach the girls and the smaller boys.

She did not appear to think it necessary that young ladies should know so very much concerning Latin grammar, or arithmetic; but rather spent her time showing us how to spin tow strings, or to knit hose or stockings.

Because of the school's having been set up in her own home, we could learn how to cook, and to weave, and to knit, not only for our own use, but to sell, and any kind of knitting work done well was in great demand. When I could do herringbone, or fox-and-geese patterns, working them, moreover, into mittens or stockings, I felt exceeding proud.

Indeed, we had among us one girl who knit into a single pair of mittens, the alphabet and a verse of poetry in four lines.

Mistress Sowerby was most careful in teaching us the use of the quill, for she claimed that the young girl or young woman, who could make easy, flowing letters, need not consider herself ignorant, even though she failed in arithmetic, or was unable to spell correctly the words she set down.

It seemed to Susan and me as if the people of Boston were taking great pride in the teaching of their children, when we learned that four hundred pounds had been set aside from the money of the town with which to set up a college, near those plantations which we had come to call the New Town.

We girls were more than disappointed, however, when told that only lads would be allowed to enter this college, and then not until having gained a certain amount of knowledge elsewhere; but yet it was a matter in which we could take pride, that there should be such a school formed when only six years had passed since we began to build the town of Boston.

RAISING FLAX

It would be strange indeed if I failed to set down anything concerning the flax which we spin, because save for it we would have had nothing of linen except what could be brought from England. There is no question but that every one who reads this will know exactly how flax is raised and spun into cloth; but yet I am minded to explain, because we girls of Boston have more to do with raising flax than with any other crop.

It is sown early in the spring, and when the plants are three or four inches high, we girls are obliged to weed them, and in so doing are forced to go barefoot, because of the stalks being very tender and therefore easily broken down.

I do not believe there is a child in town who fails to go into the flax fields, because of its being such work as can be done by young people better than by older ones, who are heavier and more likely to injure the plants.

I have said that we are obliged to go barefooted; but where there is a heavy growth of thistles, as is often the case, we girls wear two or three pairs of woolen stockings to protect our feet.

If there is any wind, we must perforce work facing it, so that such of the plants as may by accident have been trodden down, may be blown back into place by the breeze.

Wearying labor it is indeed, this weeding of the flax, and yet those who come into a new world, as have we, must not complain at whatsoever is set them to do, for unless much time is expended, crops cannot be raised, and we children of Boston need only to be reminded of the famine, when we are inclined to laziness, in order to set us in motion.

Of course you know that flax is a pretty plant, with a sweet, drooping, blue flower, and it ripens about the first of July, when it is pulled up by the roots and laid carefully out to dry, much as if one were making hay. This sort of work is always done by the men and boys, and during two or three days they are forced to turn the flax again and again, so that the sun may come upon every part of it.

PREPARING FLAX

I despair of trying to tell any one who has never seen flax prepared, how much and how many different kinds of labor are necessary, before it can be woven into the beautiful linen of which our mothers are so proud.

First it must be rippled. The ripple comb is made of stout teeth, either wood or iron, set on a puncheon, and the stalks of flax are pulled through it to break off the seeds, which fall into a cloth that has been spread to catch them, so they may be sown for the next year's harvest.

Of course this kind of work is always done in the field, and the stalks are then tied in bundles, which are called "bates," and stacked up something after the shape of a tent, being high in the middle and broadened out at the bottom.

After the flax has been exposed to the weather long enough to be perfectly dry, then water must be sprinkled over it to rot the leaves and such portions of the stalks as are not used.

Then comes that part of the work which only strong men can perform, called breaking the flax, to get from the center of the stalks the hard, wood-like "bun," which is of no value. This is done with a machine made of wood, as if you were to set three or four broad knives on a bench, at a certain distance apart, with as many more on a lever to come from above, fitting closely between the lower blades. The upper part of the machine is pulled down with force upon the flax, so that every portion of it is broken.

After this comes the scutching, or swingling, which is done by chopping with dull knives on a block of wood to take out the small pieces of bark which may still be sticking to the fiber.

Now that which remains is made up into bundles, and pounded again to clear it yet more thoroughly of what is of no value, after which it is hackled, and the fineness of the flax depends upon the number of times it has been hackled, which means, pulling it through a quantity of iron teeth driven into a board.

SPINNING, BLEACHING, AND WEAVING FLAX

After all this preparation has been done, then comes the spinning, which is, of course, the work of the women and girls. I am proud to say I could spin a skein of thread in one day, before I was thirteen years old, and you must know that this is no mean work for a girl, since it is reckoned that the best of spinners can do no more than two skeins.

Of course the skeins must be bleached, otherwise the cloth made from them would look as if woven of tow, and this portion of the work mother is always very careful to look after herself.

The skeins must stay in warm water for at least four days, and be wrung out dry every hour or two, when the water is to be changed. Then they are washed in a brook or river until there is no longer any dust or dirt remaining, after which they are bricked, which is the same as if I had said bleached, with ashes and hot water, over and over again, and afterward left to remain in clear water a full week.

Then comes more rinsing, beating, washing, drying, and winding on bobbins; so that it may be handy for the loom.

The chief men in Boston made a law that all boys and girls be taught to spin flax, and a certain sum of money was set aside to be given those who made the best linen that had been raised, spun, and woven within the town.

I am told that in some of the villages nearabout, the men who make the laws have ordered that every family shall spin so many pounds of flax each year, or pay a very large amount of money as a fine for neglecting to do so.

It is not needed I should set down how flax is spun, for there is but one way to spin that I know of, whether the material be wool, cotton, or flax.

But I would I might be able so to set it down, that whosoever reads could understand, how my mother wove this linen thread into cloth; but it would require more of words than I have patience to write.

If there be any who have the desire to know how the linen for their tables, or for their clothing, is made, I would advise that the matter be studied as one would a lesson in school, for it is most interesting, and father holds to it that every child should be able to make all of that which he wears.

WHAT WE GIRLS DO AT HOME

In this town of Boston, if we do not know how to make what is needed, then must we perforce go without, because one cannot well afford to spend the time, nor the money, required to send from Boston to London for whatever may be desired, and wait until it shall be brought across the sea.

I wonder if it would interest any of you to know what Susan and I are obliged to do in our homes during each working day of the week?

I can remember a time when we were put to it to perform certain tasks within six days, and have set down that which we did.

It was on a Monday that Susan and I hackled fifty pounds of flax, and tired we were when the day was come to an end. On Tuesday we carded tow, and on Wednesday each spun a skein of linen thread. On Thursday we did the same stint, and on Friday made brooms of guinney wheat straw. On Saturday we spun twine out of the coarser part of flax, which is called tow, and of which I will tell you later.

All this we did in a single week, in addition to helping our mothers about the house, and had no idea that we were working overly hard.

And now about tow: when flax has been prepared to that stage where it is to be hackled, the fibers pulled out by the comb are yet further divided into cobweb-like threads, and laid carefully one above the other as straight as may be. To these a certain yellow substance sticks, which we call tow, and this can be spun into coarse stuff for aprons and mats, or into twine, which, by the way, is not very strong.

It would surprise you, when working flax, to see to how small a bulk it may be reduced. What seems like an enormous stack, before being made ready for spinning, is lessened to such extent that you may readily take it in both hands, and then comes the next surprise, when you see how much cloth can be woven out of so small an amount of threads.

As for myself, I am not any too fond of working amid the flax, save when it comes to spinning; but such labor is greatest pleasure as compared with soap-making, which is to my mind the most disagreeable and slovenly of all the housewife's duties.

MAKING SOAP

It seems strange that some industrious person, who is not overly fine in feelings or in habits, does not take it upon himself to make soap for sale. Verily it would be better that a family like ours buy a quart of soap whenever it is needed, than for the whole house to be turned topsy-turvy because of the dirty work.

I wonder if there are in this country any girls so fortunate as not to have been obliged to learn how to make soap? I know of none in Boston, although it may be possible that in Salem, where are some lately come over from England, live those who still know the luxury of hard soap, such as can be bought in London.

For those fortunate ones I will set down how my mother and I make a barrel of soap, for once we are forced to get about the task, we contrive to make up as large a quantity as possible.

First, as you well know, we save all the grease which cannot be used in cooking, and is not needed for candles, until we have four and twenty pounds of such stuff as the fat of meat, scraps of suet, and drippings of wild turkey or wild geese, which last is not pleasant to use in food, and not fit for candles.

Well, when we have saved four and twenty pounds of this kind of grease, and set aside six bushels of ashes from what is known as hard wood, such as oak, maple, or birch, we "set the leach."

I suppose every family in Boston has a leach-barrel, which is a stout cask, perhaps one that has held pickled pork or pickled beef, and has in it at the very bottom a hole where is set a wooden spigot.

This barrel is placed upon some sort of platform built to raise it sufficiently high from the ground, so that a small tub or bucket may be put under the spigot. Then it is filled with ashes, and water poured into the top, which, of course, trickles down until it runs, or, as some say, is leached, out through the spigot, into the bucket, or whatsoever you have put there to receive it.

While running slowly through the ashes, it becomes what is called lye, and upon the making of this lye depends the quality of the soap.

Now, of course, as the water is poured upon the contents of the barrel, the ashes settle down, and as fast as this comes to pass, yet more ashes are added and more water thrown in, until one has leached the entire six bushels, when the lye should be strong enough, as mother's receipt for soap-making has it, to "bear up an egg, or a potato, so that you can see a portion of it on the surface as big as a ninepence."

If the lye is not of sufficient strength to stand this test, it must be ladled out and poured over the ashes again, until finally, as will surely be the case, it has become strong enough.

The next turn in the work is to build a fire out of doors somewhere, because to make your soap in the house would be a most disagreeable undertaking. One needs a great pot, which should hold as much as one-third of a barrel, and into this is poured half of the grease and half of the lye, to be kept boiling until it has become soap.

Now just when that point has been reached I cannot say, because of not having had sufficient experience; but mother is a master hand at this dirty labor, and always has greatest success with it.

Of course, when one kettle-full has been boiled down, the remainder of the lye and the remainder of the grease is put in, and worked in the same manner as before.

SOAP FROM BAYBERRIES

It is possible, and we shall do so when time can be spent in making luxuries, to get soap from the tallow of bay berry plums.

I have already said that we stew out a kind of vegetable tallow from bayberries with which to make candles, and this same grease, when boiled with lye as if you were making soft soap, can be cooked so stiff that, when poured into molds, it will form little hard cakes that are particularly convenient for the cleansing of one's hands.

There can be no question but that bayberry soap will whiten and soften the skin better than does soft soap; but the labor of making it is so disagreeable that, as Susan says, I had rather my hands were tough and rough, than purchase a delicate skin at such an expense.

GOOSE-PICKING

There is another household duty which frets me much, and yet it must be performed, else would we be put to it for quills with which to write, and for soft beds, pillows, and quilts. It is goose-picking that I abhor, not only because of its seeming extremely cruel, but on account of its being like the soap-making, dirty work.

I question if there be a family in Boston who does not own a flock of geese, and among them many who were once wild. They wander around the streets all summer, paddling the pools of water, chasing insects, and devouring whatsoever may have been thrown out of the houses that is eatable.

I doubt whether, if it were within the power of our preachers so to do, they would not kill all the geese in the town, for more than once on a Sabbath day have these noisy creatures made such a tumult outside the church that the sermon was actually interrupted.

Besides that, you cannot go anywhere without a lot of foolish geese running at your heels, hissing as if you had done something for which you should be ashamed, and they were calling attention to it.

Twice each season, in the planting and the harvesting time, must the small feathers be stripped from the live birds, and while this is being done, the goose, which has a strong neck and beak, would inflict many a grievous wound if one did not pull an old stocking over its head.

Some people are so particular as to have made goose baskets, which in shape are not unlike small gourds, and through the narrow neck of these the head of the goose is thrust, while the body can be held firmly between the knees of whosoever is doing the plucking.

Of course, when one is pulling feathers from the bird, the fine fluff, or down, flies everywhere about like snow, and the result is, that unless you take the precaution of tying your hair up in cloths, and putting on an old linen dress from which dirt can readily be shaken, you will be covered from head to foot with these fluffy particles, which are not much larger than snow-flakes, and extremely difficult to remove.

I have been so busy setting down matters concerning the household, as to forget that I should tell you how our town of Boston has grown, and who of the great men of England have come into it.

A CHANGE OF GOVERNORS

It was the third year after our coming, that Master John Cotton, the famous preacher, settled among us, taking upon himself, because of the entreaties of our people, the care of the First Church.

It was also in this same year that a new governor was chosen, much to the regret of both Susan and me, for while we girls could not be expected to know anything regarding the matter, it surely seemed to us that Master Winthrop was the very best man in all this world to rule over us.

But those who had the privilege of voting must have believed otherwise, for they elected Master Thomas Dudley in his stead, and made Master Winthrop one of the assistants in the Council.

With the exception of that, and the trouble which Master Roger Williams, the great preacher, was making, nothing disturbed us. Our town continued to grow fast, until we began to believe that before many years had passed it would be even as great a city as could be found in England, with, of course, the exception of London.

THE FLIGHT OF ROGER WILLIAMS

Now as to the trouble which some of our people were having with Master Roger Williams: I should be able to set it down plainly, and yet it is not reasonable to suppose girls know much about the affairs of state.

A very great preacher was Master Williams, and one who took it upon himself to write, for the public reading, that the King had no right to sell or give land to us white people, because of the whole country's belonging to the Indians, and it can be well understood how much of a stir the matter caused.

Master Williams had been chosen by the people of Salem as teacher in their church, and when he declared that we had no right to hold the land which the King had granted us, which Master Blackstone had sold to us, and which Chickatabut had given to us in writing, the chief men of our town declared that he was not the kind of preacher who should be allowed to remain in the New World. Therefore they wrote to the people of Salem, demanding that he be sent back to England.

Of course our gentlemen of Boston must have been in the right, for I have heard my father say they were, and surely he would not lend his face to anything which was at all wrong. However, the people of Salem refused to listen to us of Boston, and, much to our surprise, Master John Cotton took sides with Master Williams, which seemed to me very strange.

I cannot say why it was that the people of the colony kept Governor Dudley in office only one year, or why Master Haynes was elected.

Master Haynes was, of course, ruler over the entire colony, and, as father said, not the kind of man to be trifled with by Master Williams, even though he was a preacher. Therefore, when Captain Underhill was about to sail for England, our Governor commanded him to take Master Williams back to London.

Some one, it seems, told the preacher what was on foot, and, although it was in January with the snow piled deep everywhere around, he fled from Salem into the woods, trusting himself to the mercy of the savages rather than be sent back in disgrace.

I have heard that it was a bitterly cold day, with the snow blowing furiously, when the poor man plunged into the woods in flight, taking with him nothing whatsoever save that which he wore upon his back.

Father came to know afterward, that Master Williams spent the winter with the Pokanoket Indians, some of whom he had met during the short time he lived at Plymouth, and in the spring went to the shore of Narragansett Bay, where it was reported that he was trying to build up a village.

SIR HARRY VANE

Quite the most distinguished person who came among us was Sir Harry Vane. His father was a Privy Councilor to the King, and one of the Secretaries of State in England. Because of wanting to see the New World, the young gentleman had been given permission to come to this country for a term of three years.

I wish you could have seen the stir that was made when he arrived. The Governor, with his soldiers and trumpeters, went down to the wharf to receive him with great ceremony, and the cannon on board the ships were discharged with a wondrous noise when he stepped ashore.

He was a most pleasing man to look upon, so young and so courtly, while his costume was a marvel of elegance. It seemed to me, as I saw him taking the Governor's hand with so much grace, that we needed but few men of the same kind among us to lend great distinction to our town in America.

That same evening, however, my mother reproached me because of worldly thoughts, saying that fine feathers do not make fine birds, although they may make a bird look fine, which I suppose is the same as if she had said that an evil man might, by his costume, be made to appear worthy, whereas he would not be so at heart.

However, I was not the only one in Boston who favored Sir Harry Vane, for before the year was over, when Master Haynes' term of office had expired, he was chosen as our Governor, and surely no person could have looked more kingly than did he, when he stood in the door of the Great House bowing to those people who had assembled in honor of his having been elected.

MAKING SUGAR

Susan and I had a right delightful time when the first warm days of spring came, for then it was the season in which to make sugar. I do not mean to say that we girls took any part in the sweet work; but on a certain day, very early in the morning, we were allowed to go out to Master Winthrop's plantation in New Town, there to see his people at the task, and, what was far better, we remained until late at night.

It was the first time I had been away from home, save to go over to Charlestown for a few hours, since we came from England, and I enjoyed it all the more because of its being something strange.

The snow was deep on the low-lying lands, therefore we wore snow-shoes, and you must know that we girls can use those odd footings almost as well as do the Indian children. It was a long walk to New Town; but father went with us, his gun loaded heavily in case we came across a hungry wolf, and so great was the excitement of going abroad after having been kept in the house, except on those days when we went to meeting or lecture, ever since the winter began, that we gave no heed to fatigue.