"Quad's odds"; . ouse evererected in Michigan. A thousand sad memoriesgurgled up. It isnt every person who can appreciate these old relicsand call out all the tender fancies connected with have known old houses more or less ever since my birth,and I can appreciate a dozen of em at once. It made me feel lonely to stand before that old firsthouse. It seemed a sacred thing in my eyes. The man who built it, a hundred years ago, wasnt thereany more. No, I looked around and could sec nothing ofhim. However, I could appreciate his pioneer struggles,his griefs and heartaches, just the same, and
"Quad's odds"; . ouse evererected in Michigan. A thousand sad memoriesgurgled up. It isnt every person who can appreciate these old relicsand call out all the tender fancies connected with have known old houses more or less ever since my birth,and I can appreciate a dozen of em at once. It made me feel lonely to stand before that old firsthouse. It seemed a sacred thing in my eyes. The man who built it, a hundred years ago, wasnt thereany more. No, I looked around and could sec nothing ofhim. However, I could appreciate his pioneer struggles,his griefs and heartaches, just the same, and the fact of hisabsence was excused as I gazed at the ancient hut, fastgoing to decay. It wasnt a first-class house any door had rotted away,some of the logs were crum-bling to dust, and there wasa general tearful look to thewhole concern. I satdown on alog and wept. It is a sadthing to sit on a log and be overwhelmed with memories of the past—of a hundred years ..go. There that old first house was 191. 192 A BASE PROPOSITION. fast falling to decay, and the general public didnt seem tocare a picayune about it. Two boys were probing a wood-chucks den not fifty rods awa}% and a red-headed man waswashing a one-horse wagon in a pond whose waters almosttouched the sacred loe^ went over to him. He seemed like an emotional man—like one whose heart-strings would yank a little as fond memory played on thema tune of Ions: aor>. It is a sad thing to look upon the first house erected inMichigan, isnt it? I queried. The man with red hair looked up and grinned, and ashe rubbed away at the mud-stained spokes, he replied: Want to buy a dog, stranger ? A dog, sir ? Man, have you no soul—no heart-strings ! I am plunged in sadness as I look upon these old logs. I think I hear a funeral bell tolling the death of the past! Its one of those blasted locomotives down at the bend ! he replied, raising his head to listen. Hark! Doesnt the breeze rustling the tender limbsof the beech
Size: 2071px × 1206px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorquadm184, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1875
