which was as sharp as a razor, he soon had the hook out.
Tom called to me to follow him out to the porch and there was a sight that one does not see now days. There was an old wooden pail, half full of brook trout. He had just caught them at the bend of the river and they were all good sized ones. We thought nothing of that in those days. While we stood there looking at the fish, supper was announced.
All hands were soon seated at the long, roomy table, made of uneven sized rough lumber, covered with clean oil cloth. Great platters of boiled beef and dishes of potatoes, which had been cooked in their jackets and were bursting open, plates of hot corn bread and large prints of golden butter greeted willing mouths.
The good mother passed about the table with a large brown pitcher, filled with creamy cold sweet milk just brought from the milk house at the spring. The glass she filled at each place, was not the small, two for a cent kind used today, but a large, substantial brown bowl. There was a stack of white bread, which contained no stepmother slices.
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