In those days
farmers' boys did not enjoy the luxury of shoes in the summer, nor
indeed in the autumn season. More than once I picked chestnuts bare-
footed and often I have tended the oxen in the mowing field frosty
mornings and warmed my feet by standing on a stone.
Once only during my home life did I go to Boston with my father. He
carried poultry in a one-horse wagon. I accompanied him. The year may
have been 1828, or '9 or '30. On our way he stopped at one of the
Waltham cotton factories to see a niece of my father who was there at
work. We lodged that night at the house of Madam Coffin. She was then
already old in my sight. She seemed pleased with my father's visit,
and the impression left upon my mind is that we were entertained with
marked consideration. My father had managed her farm for about five
years from 1809 to 1814, when he volunteered for service in the army,
and for ninety days he was on the island then known as Fort Warren.
The next morning we reached Boston and stationed our wagon at the
northwest corner of Quincy Market, where we sold our poultry. During
the day my father had occasion to go to the store of Joseph Mead, at
the corner of Lyman Place, and I was left in charge of the wagon. I
had the fortune to sell some of the poultry. My father thought that
the proceeds in money did not equal the decrease in stock, and so it
proved--for the next Sunday morning when I dressed for meeting I found
a two dollar bill in my trousers' pocket.
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