While Athens was still only a small city there lived
within its walls a man named Dædalus (dĕd´a-lŭs),
who was the most skillful worker in wood and stone and
metal that had ever been known. It was he who taught
the people how to build better houses and how to hang 5
their doors on hinges and how to support the roofs with
pillars and posts. He was the first to fasten things together
with glue; he invented the plumb line and the
auger; and he showed seamen how to put up masts in their
ships and how to rig the sails to them with ropes. He 10
built a stone palace for Ægeus, the young king of Athens,
and beautified the Temple of Athena which stood on the
great rocky hill in the middle of the city.

Dædalus had a nephew named Perdix, whom he had
taken when a boy to teach the trade of builder. But 15
Perdix was a very apt learner and soon surpassed his master
in the knowledge of many things. His eyes were ever
open to see what was going on about him, and he learned
the lore of the fields and the woods. Walking one day by
the sea he picked up the backbone of a great fish, and from 20
it he invented the saw. Seeing how a certain bird carved
holes in the trunks of trees, he learned how to make and use
the chisel. Then he invented the wheel which potters
use in molding clay; and he made of a forked stick the
first pair of compasses for drawing circles; and he studied
out many other curious and useful things.

Dædalus was not pleased when he saw that the lad was 5
so apt and wise, so ready to learn, and so eager to do.

"If he keeps on in this way," he murmured, "he will
be a greater man than I; his name will be remembered
and mine will be forgotten."

Day after day, while at his work, Dædalus pondered over 10
this matter, and soon his heart was filled with hatred
towards young Perdix. One morning when the two were
putting up an ornament on the outer wall of Athena's
temple, Dædalus bade his nephew go out on a narrow
scaffold which hung high over the edge of the rocky cliff15
whereon the temple stood. Then when the lad obeyed,
it was easy enough, with a blow of a hammer, to knock
the scaffold from its fastenings.

Poor Perdix fell headlong through the air, and he would
have been dashed in pieces upon the stones at the foot of20
the cliff had not kind Athena seen him and taken pity
upon him. While he was yet whirling through mid-air
she changed him into a partridge, and he flitted away to
the hills to live forever in the woods and fields which he
loved so well. And to this day, when summer breezes 25
blow and the wild flowers bloom in meadow and glade,
the voice of Perdix may still sometimes be heard calling
to his mate from among the grass and reeds or amid the
leafy underwoods.

As for Dædalus, when the people of Athens heard of his 30
dastardly deed they were filled with grief and rage—grief
for young Perdix, whom all had learned to love; rage
towards the wicked uncle who loved only himself. At first
they were for punishing Dædalus with the death which
he so richly deserved, but when they remembered what he
had done to make their homes pleasanter and their lives 5
easier they allowed him to live; and yet they drove him
out of Athens and bade him never return.

There was a ship in the harbor just ready to start on a
voyage across the sea, and in it Dædalus embarked with
all his precious tools and his young son Icarus (ĭk´à-rŭs). 10
Day after day the little vessel sailed slowly southward,
keeping the shore of the mainland always upon the right.
It passed Trœzen and the rocky coast of Argos and then
struck boldly out across the sea.

At last the famous Island of Crete was reached, and 15
there Dædalus landed and made himself known; and the
King of Crete, who had already heard of his wondrous
skill, welcomed him to his kingdom, and gave him a home
in his palace, and promised that he should be rewarded
with great riches and honor if he would but stay and practice 20
his craft there as he had done in Athens.

Now the name of the King of Crete was Minos. His
grandfather, whose name was also Minos, was the son of
Europa, a young princess whom a white bull, it was said,
had brought on his back across the sea from distant Asia.25
This elder Minos had been accounted the wisest of men—so
wise, indeed, that Jupiter chose him to be one of the
judges of the Lower World. The younger Minos was
almost as wise as his grandfather; and he was brave and
farseeing and skilled as a ruler of men. He had made all 30
the islands subject to his kingdom, and his ships sailed
into every part of the world and brought back to Crete
the riches of foreign lands. So it was not hard for him to
persuade Dædalus to make his home with him and be the
chief of his artisans.

And Dædalus built for King Minos a most wonderful
palace with floors of marble and pillars of granite; and 5
in the palace he set up golden statues which had tongues
and could talk; and for splendor and beauty there was
no other building in all the wide earth that could be compared
with it.

There lived in those days among the hills of Crete a 10
terrible monster called the Minotaur (mĭn´ō-tôr), the like
of which has never been seen from that time until now.
This creature, it was said, had the body of a man but the
face and head of a wild bull and the fierce nature of a
mountain lion. The people of Crete would not have killed 15
him if they could; for they thought that the Mighty Folk
who lived with Jupiter on the mountain top had sent him
among them and that these beings would be angry if anyone
should take his life. He was the pest and terror of
all the land. Where he was least expected, there he was 20
sure to be; and almost every day some man, woman, or
child was caught and devoured by him.

"You have done so many wonderful things," said the
king to Dædalus, "can you not do something to rid the
land of this Minotaur?" 25

"Shall I kill him?" asked Dædalus.

"Ah, no!" said the king. "That would only bring
greater misfortune upon us."

"I will build a house for him then," said Dædalus, "and
you can keep him in it as a prisoner." 30

"But he may pine away and die if he is penned up in
prison," said the king.

"He shall have plenty of room to roam about," said
Dædalus; "and if you will only now and then feed one of
your enemies to him, I promise you that he shall live and
thrive."

So the wonderful artisan brought together his workmen, 5
and they built a marvelous house with so many rooms in
it and so many winding ways that no one who went far
into it could ever find his way out again; and Dædalus
called it the Labyrinth and cunningly persuaded the
Minotaur to go inside it. The monster soon lost his way 10
among the winding passages, but the sound of his terrible
bellowings could be heard day and night as he wandered
back and forth vainly trying to find some place to escape.

Not long after this it happened that Dædalus was guilty
of a deed which angered the king very greatly; and had 15
not Minos wished him to build other buildings for him, he
would have put him to death and served him right.

"Hitherto," said the king, "I have honored you for your
skill and rewarded you for your labor. But now you shall
be my slave and shall serve me without hire and without 20
any word of praise."

Then he gave orders to the guards at the city gates that
they should not let Dædalus pass out at any time, and he
set soldiers to watch the ships that were in port so that
he could not escape by sea. But although the wonderful 25
artisan was thus held as a prisoner, he did not build any
more buildings for King Minos; he spent his time in planning
how he might regain his freedom.

"All my inventions," he said to his son Icarus, "have
hitherto been made to please other people; now I will 30
invent something to please myself."

So through all the day he pretended to be planning some
great work for the king, but every night he locked himself
up in his chamber and wrought secretly by candlelight.
By and by he had made for himself a pair of strong wings,
and for Icarus another pair of smaller ones; and then, 5
one midnight, when everybody was asleep, the two went
out to see if they could fly. They fastened the wings
to their shoulders with wax, and then sprang up into the
air. They could not fly very far at first, but they did so
well that they felt sure of doing much better in time. 10

The next night Dædalus made some changes in the wings.
He put on an extra strap or two; he took out a feather
from one wing and put a new feather into another; and
then he and Icarus went out into the moonlight to try
them again. They did finely this time. They flew up to 15
the top of the king's palace, and then they sailed away over
the walls of the city and alighted on the top of a hill. But
they were not ready to undertake a long journey yet;
and so just before daybreak, they flew back home. Every
fair night after that they practiced with their wings, and 20
at the end of a month they felt as safe in the air as on the
ground and could skim over the hilltops like birds.

Early one morning, before King Minos had risen from
his bed, they fastened on their wings, sprang into the air,
and flew out of the city. Once fairly away from the island 25
they turned towards the west, for Dædalus had heard of
an island named Sicily which lay hundreds of miles away,
and he had made up his mind to seek a new home there.

All went well for a time, and the two bold flyers sped
swiftly over the sea, skimming along only a little above 30
the waves, and helped on their way by the brisk east wind.
Towards noon the sun shone very warm, and Dædalus
called out to the boy, who was a little behind him, and told
him to keep his wings cool and not fly too high. But the
boy was proud of his skill in flying, and as he looked up at
the sun he thought how nice it would be to soar like it
high above the clouds in the blue depths of the sky. 5

"At any rate," said he to himself, "I will go up a little
higher. Perhaps I can see the horses which draw the sun
car, and perhaps I shall catch sight of their driver, the
mighty sun master himself."

So he flew up higher and higher, but his father, who was 10
in front, did not see him. Pretty soon, however, the heat
of the sun began to melt the wax with which the boy's
wings were fastened. He felt himself sinking through the
air; the wings had become loosened from his shoulders.
He screamed to his father, but it was too late. Dædalus 15
turned just in time to see Icarus fall headlong into the
waves. The water was very deep there, and the skill of
the wonderful artisan could not save his child. He could
only look with sorrowing eyes at the unpitying sea, and
fly on alone to distant Sicily. There, men say, he lived for 20
many years, but he never did any great work nor built
anything half so marvelous as the Labyrinth of Crete.
And the sea in which poor Icarus was drowned was called
forever afterward by his name, the Icarian Sea.

CHARLEMAGNE AND ROLAND

By Hélène A. Guerber

Numerous stories are told of the way in which
Roland first attracted the attention of the great
emperor, his uncle. Of these the most popular is that
which relates how Milon, attempting to ford a stream, had
been carried away and drowned, while his poor half-famished 5
wife at home was thus left to perish of hunger. Seeing
the signs of such acute distress around him, the child went
boldly to the banqueting hall near by, where Charlemagne
and his lords were feasting. Casting his eyes round for a
suitable dish to plunder, Roland caught up a platter of 10
food and fled. His fearless act greatly amused the emperor,
who forbade his servants to interfere. Thus the boy
carried off his prize in triumph, and soon set it before the
startled eyes of his mother.

Excited by the success of his raid, a few minutes later the 15
child reëntered the hall, and with equal coolness laid hands
upon the emperor's cup, full of rich wine. Challenged by
Charlemagne, the boy then boldly declared that he wanted
the meat and wine for his mother, a lady of high degree.
In answer to the emperor's bantering questions, he declared
that he was his mother's cupbearer, her page, and
her gallant knight, which answers so amused Charlemagne 5
that he sent for her. He saw her to be his own sister, and,
stricken with remorse, he asked for her forgiveness and
treated her with kindness as long as she lived, and took her
son into his service.

Another legend relates that Charlemagne, hearing that 10
the robber knight of the Ardennes had a priceless jewel
set in his shield, called all his bravest noblemen together,
and bade them sally forth separately, with only a page as
escort, in quest of the knight. Once found, they were to
challenge him in true knightly fashion, and at the point of 15
the lance win the jewel he wore. A day was appointed
when, successful or not, the courtiers were to return, and,
beginning with the lowest in rank, were to give a truthful
account of their adventures while on the quest.

All the knights departed and scoured the forest of the 20
Ardennes, each hoping to meet the robber knight and win
the jewel. Among them was Milon, accompanied by his
son Roland, a lad of fifteen, whom he had taken as page and
armor-bearer. Milon had spent many days in vain search
for the knight, when, exhausted by his long ride, he dismounted, 25
removed his heavy armor, and lay down under a
tree to sleep, bidding Roland keep close watch during his
slumbers.

For a while Roland watched faithfully; then, fired by a
desire to distinguish himself, he donned his father's armor, 30
sprang on his steed, and rode off into the forest in search of
adventures. He had not gone very far when he saw a
gigantic horseman coming to meet him, and by the dazzling
glitter of a large stone set in his shield he recognized him to
be the invincible knight of the Ardennes. Afraid of
nothing, however, he laid his lance in rest when challenged
to fight, and charged so bravely that he unhorsed 5
his opponent. A fearful battle on foot ensued, each striving
hard to accomplish the death of the other. But at last the
fresh young energy of Roland conquered, and his terrible
foe fell to the ground in agony. A minute later his corpse
lay stiff on the field, leaving the victory in the hands of 10
Roland.

Hastily wrenching the coveted jewel from the shield of
the dead warrior, the boy hid it in his breast. Then, riding
rapidly back to his sleeping father, he laid aside the armor
and removed all traces of a bloody encounter. Soon after,15
Milon awoke and resumed the quest, when he came upon
the body of the dead knight. He was disappointed indeed
to find that another had won the jewel, and rode sadly back
to court, to be present on the appointed day.

In much pomp Charlemagne ascended his throne amid 20
the deafening sound of trumpets. Then, seating himself, he
bade the knights appear before him and relate their adventures.
One after another strode up the hall, followed by an
armor-bearer holding his shield. Each in turn told of
finding the knight slain and the jewel gone. Last of all 25
came Milon. Gloomily he made his way to the throne
to repeat the story that had already been told so often.
But as he went, there followed behind him, with a radiant
face, young Roland, proudly bearing his father's shield,
in the center of which shone the precious jewel. At the 30
sight of this all the nobles started, and whispered to one
another that Milon had done the deed. Then when he
dismally told how he too had found the knight dead a
shout of incredulity greeted him. Turning his head, he
saw to his amazement that his own shield bore the dazzling
gem. At the sight of it he appeared so amazed that
Charlemagne set himself to question Roland and thus soon 5
learned how it had been obtained. In reward for his bravery
in this encounter Roland was knighted, and allowed to
take his place among the paladins of the emperor. Nor was
it long before he further distinguished himself, becoming,
to his father's delight, the most renowned of that famous10
company.

—Myths and Legends of the Middle Ages.

KEEPING THE BRIDGE

By Thomas Babington Macaulay

Ancient Rome stood on seven hills on the south shore of the Tiber 5
River, which formed a part of the inner defensive works of the city.
Only one bridge—a wooden affair—spanned the river. Across the
Tiber was the Janiculum, a hill fortified as an outer post of defense.

When Lars Porsena (Pŏr´sĕ-na), king of Etruria, declared sudden
war on Rome, he marched on the city so rapidly that the Janiculum
was carried by storm. Nothing stood between him and the City of
the Seven Hills—unless the bridge were destroyed. 10

Horatius and two others elected to hold the bridgehead opposite
the city against Porsena's entire army while the Romans cut down
the bridge. The best of the Etruscan warriors came against the powerful
three, only to be slain. Just before the bridge fell into the river,
Horatius sent his two comrades back across the bridge to safety.
He held his foes at bay single-handed till the structure fell into the 15
water. Then he plunged into the Tiber with his heavy fighting gear
on, and swam to the Roman side. Thus was the city saved.

THE STORY OF MOLLY PITCHER

By Frank R. Stockton

At the battle of Monmouth, a young Irishwoman,
wife of an artilleryman, played a very notable part
in the working of the American cannon on that eventful
day in June.

Molly was born with the soul of a soldier, and although 5
she did not belong to the army she much preferred going
to war to staying at home and attending to domestic affairs.
She was in the habit of following her husband on his various
marches, and on the day of the Monmouth battle she was
with him on the field. 10

The day was very hot. The rays of the sun came down
with such force that many of the soldiers were taken sick
and some died; and the constant discharges of musketry
and artillery did not make the air any cooler. Molly devoted
herself to keeping her husband as comfortable as 15
possible, and she made frequent trips to a spring not far
away to bring him water; and on this account he was one
of the freshest and coolest artillerymen on the ground.
In fact, there was no man belonging to the battery who was
able to manage one of these great guns better than Pitcher. 20
Returning from one of her trips to the spring, Molly
had almost reached the place where her husband was
stationed when a bullet from the enemy struck the poor
man and stretched him dead, so that Molly had no sooner
caught sight of her husband than she saw him fall. She 5
ran to the gun, but scarcely had reached it before she heard
one of the officers order the cannon to be wheeled back out
of the way, saying that there was no one there who could
serve it as it had been served.

Now Molly's eyes flashed fire. One might have thought 10
that she would have been prostrated with grief at the loss
of her husband, but as we have said, she had within her
the soul of a soldier. She had seen her husband, who was
the same to her as a comrade, fall, and she was filled with
an intense desire to avenge his death. She cried out to 15
the officer not to send the gun away but to let her serve it;
and scarcely waiting to hear what he would say, she sprang
to the cannon and began to load it and fire it. She had so
often attended her husband and even helped him in his
work that she knew all about this sort of thing, and her 20
gun was managed well and rapidly.

It might be supposed that it would be a very strange
thing to see a woman on the battlefield firing a cannon;
but even if the enemy had watched Molly with a spyglass,
they would not have noticed anything to excite their surprise. 25
She wore an ordinary skirt, like other women of
the time; but over this was an artilleryman's coat and on
her head was a cocked hat with some jaunty feathers stuck
in it, so that she looked almost as much like a man as the
rest of the soldiers of the battery. 30

During the rest of the battle Molly bravely served her
gun; and if she did as much execution in the ranks of the
redcoats as she wanted to do, the loss in the regiments in
front of her must have been very great. Of course all the
men in the battery knew Molly Pitcher, and they watched
her with the greatest interest and admiration. She would
not allow anyone to take her place, but kept on loading and 5
firing until the work of the day was done. Then the
officers and men crowded about her with congratulations
and praise.

The next day General Greene went to Molly—whom he
found in very much the condition in which she had left 10
the battlefield, stained with dirt and powder, with her
fine feathers gone and her cocked hat dilapidated—and
conducted her, just as she was, to General Washington.
When the commander in chief heard what she had done,
he gave her warm words of praise. He determined to 15
bestow upon her a substantial reward; for anyone who was
brave enough and able enough to step in and fill an important
place, as Molly had filled her husband's place,
certainly deserved a reward. It was not according to the
rules of war to give a commission to a woman; but as 20
Molly had acted the part of a man, Washington considered
it right to pay her for her services as if she had been a man.
He therefore gave her the commission of a sergeant and
recommended that her name be placed on the list of half-pay
officers for life. 25

—Stories of New Jersey.

KING PHILIP TO THE WHITE SETTLERS

By Edward Everett

White man, there is eternal war between thee and
me! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my
life. In those woods where I bent my youthful bow, I will
still hunt the deer. Over yonder waters I will still glide
unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls5
I will still lay up my winter's store of food. On these
fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the
land is mine! I understand not these paper rights. I gave
not my consent when, as thou sayest, these broad regions
were purchased, for a few baubles, of my fathers. They 10
could sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How
could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit sent me
into the world to live upon? They knew not what they
did. The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and
feeble, and asked to lie down on the red man's bearskin, and 15
warm himself at the red man's fire, and have a little piece
of land to raise corn for his women and children; and now
he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads
out his parchment over the whole, and says, "It is mine!"
Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit
has not made us to live together. There is poison in the
white man's cup; the white man's dog barks at the red
man's heels.

If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I 5
fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the graves
of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west?—the fierce
Mohawk, the man-eater, is my foe. Shall I fly to the east?—the
great water is before me. No, stranger, here I have
lived, and here I will die! And if here thou abidest, there 10
is eternal war between thee and me. Thou hast taught
me thy arts of destruction. For that alone I thank thee;
and now take heed to thy steps; the red man is thy foe.
When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle
by thee; when thou liest down at night, my knife is at thy 15
throat. The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy,
and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest.
Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood; thou
shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes;
thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after 20
with the scalping knife; thou shalt build, and I will burn,
till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land.
Go thy way, for this time, in safety; but remember,
stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee.

PIONEER LIFE IN OHIO

By William Dean Howells

It would not be easy to say where or when the first log
cabin was built, but it is safe to say that it was somewhere
in the English colonies of North America, and it is
certain that it became the type of the settler's house
throughout the whole Middle West. It may be called the 5
American house, the Western house, the Ohio house.
Hardly any other house was built for a hundred years by the
men who were clearing the land for the stately mansions of
our day. As long as the primeval forests stood, the log cabin
remained the woodsman's home; and not fifty years ago 10
I saw log cabins newly built in one of the richest and most
prosperous regions of Ohio. They were, to be sure, log
cabins of a finer pattern than the first settler reared. They
were of logs handsomely shaped with the broadax; the
joints between the logs were plastered with mortar; the 15
chimney at the end was of stone; the roof was shingled,
the windows were of glass, and the door was solid and well
hung. They were such cabins as were the homes of the
well-to-do settlers in all the older parts of the West. But
throughout that region there were many log cabins, mostly
sunk to the uses of stables and corn cribs, of the kind that
the borderers built in the times of the Indian War, from
1750 to 1800. They were framed of the round logs, untouched
by the ax except for the notches at the ends where 5
they were fitted into one another; the chimney was of
small sticks stuck together with mud, and was as frail
as a barn-swallow's nest; the walls were stuffed with moss,
plastered with clay; the floor was of rough boards called
puncheons, riven from the block with a heavy knife; the 10
roof was of clapboards, split from logs and laid loosely on
the rafters and held in place with logs fastened athwart
them.

When the first settlers broke the silence of the woods
with the stroke of their axes and hewed out a space for their 15
cabins and their fields, they inclosed their homes with a
high stockade of logs, for defense against the Indians; or
if they built their cabins outside the wooden walls of their
stronghold, they always expected to flee to it at the first
alarm and to stand siege within it. The Indians had 20
no cannon, and the logs of the stockade were proof against
their rifles; if a breach was made, there was still the blockhouse
left, the citadel of every little fort. This was heavily
built, and pierced with loopholes for the riflemen within,
whose wives ran bullets for them at its mighty hearth, and 25
who kept the savage foe from its sides by firing down upon
them through the projecting timbers of its upper story;
but in many a fearful siege the Indians set the roof ablaze
with arrows wrapped in burning tow, and then the fight
became desperate indeed. After the Indian War ended, 30
the stockade was no longer needed, and the settlers had
only the wild beasts to contend with, and those constant
enemies of the poor in all ages and conditions—hunger
and cold.

They deadened the trees around them by girdling them
with the ax, and planted the spaces between the leafless
trunks with corn and beans and pumpkins. These were 5
their necessaries, but they had an occasional luxury in the
wild honey from the hollow of a bee tree when the bears
had not got at it. In its season, there was an abundance
of wild fruit, plums and cherries, haws and grapes, berries
and nuts of every kind, and the maples yielded all the 10
sugar they chose to make from them. But it was long
before they had, at any time, the profusion which our
modern arts enable us to enjoy the whole year round, and
in the hard beginnings the orchard and the garden were
forgotten for the fields. Their harvests must pay for the15
acres bought of the government, or from some speculator
who had never seen the land; and the settler must be
prompt in paying, or else see his home pass from him after
all his toil into the hands of strangers. He worked hard
and he fared hard, and if he was safer when peace came, 20
it is doubtful if he were otherwise more fortunate. As the
game grew scarcer it was no longer so easy to provide food
for his family; the change from venison and wild turkey
to the pork which early began to prevail in his diet was
hardly a wholesome one. Besides, in cutting down the 25
trees he opened spaces to the sun which had been harmless
enough in the shadow of the woods, but which now sent up
their ague-breeding miasma. Ague was the scourge of
the whole region, and it was hard to know whether the
pestilence was worse on the rich levels beside the rivers, or 30
on the stony hills where the settlers sometimes built to
escape it.

When once the settler was housed against the weather,
he had the conditions of a certain rude comfort indoors.
If his cabin was not proof against the wind and rain or snow,
its vast fireplace formed the means of heating, while the
forest was an inexhaustible store of fuel. At first he dressed 5
in the skins and pelts of the deer and fox and wolf, and his
costume could have varied little from that of the red savage
about him, for we often read how he mistook Indians
for white men at first sight, and how the Indians in their
turn mistook white men for their own people. The whole 10
family went barefoot in the summer, but in winter the
pioneer wore moccasins of buckskin and buckskin leggins
or trousers; his coat was a hunting shirt belted at the
waist and fringed where it fell to his knees. It was of
homespun, a mixture of wool and flax called linsey-woolsey, 15
and out of this the dresses of his wife and daughters were
made. The wool was shorn from the sheep, which were so
scarce that they were never killed for their flesh, except
by the wolves, which were very fond of mutton but had
no use for wool. For a wedding dress a cotton check was 20
thought superb, and it really cost a dollar a yard; silks,
satins, laces, were unknown. A man never left his house
without his rifle; the gun was a part of his dress, and in
his belt he carried a hunting knife and a hatchet; on his
head he wore a cap of squirrel skin, often with the plume-like 25
tail dangling from it.

The furniture of the cabins was, like the clothing of
the pioneers, homemade. A bedstead was contrived by
stretching poles from forked sticks driven into the ground
and laying clapboards across them; the bedclothes were 30
bearskins. Stools, benches, and tables were roughed out
with auger and broadax; the puncheon floor was left bare,
and if the earth formed the floor, no rug ever replaced the
grass which was its first carpet. The cabin had but one
room, where the whole of life went on by day; the father
and mother slept there at night, and the children mounted
to their chamber in the loft by means of a ladder. 5

The food was what has been already named. The meat
was venison, bear, raccoon, wild turkey, wild duck, and
pheasant; the drink was water, or rye coffee, or whisky,
which the little stills everywhere supplied only too abundantly.
Wheat bread was long unknown, and corn cakes 10
of various makings and bakings supplied its place. The
most delicious morsel of all was corn grated while still in
the milk and fashioned into round cakes eaten hot from
the clapboard before the fire, or from the mysterious depths
of the Dutch oven buried in coals and ashes on the hearth. 15
There was soon a great flow of milk from the kine that
multiplied in the pastures in the woods, and there was sweetening
enough from the maple tree and the bee tree, but
salt was very scarce and very dear, and long journeys
were made through the perilous woods to and from the 20
licks, or salt springs, which the deer had discovered before
the white man or the red man knew them.

The bees which hived their honey in the hollow trees
were tame bees gone wild, and with the coming of the
settlers some of the wild things increased so much that 25
they became a pest. Such were the crows which literally
blackened the fields after the settlers plowed, and which
the whole family had to fight from the corn when it was
planted. Such were the rabbits, and such, above all, were
the squirrels, which overran the farms and devoured every30
green thing till the people combined in great squirrel hunts
and destroyed them by tens of thousands. The larger
game had meanwhile disappeared. The buffalo and the
elk went first; the deer followed, and the bear, and even
the useless wolf. But long after these the poisonous reptiles
lingered, the rattlesnake, the moccasin, and the yet-deadlier
copperhead; and it was only when the whole 5
country was cleared that they ceased to be a very common
danger.

—Stories of Ohio.