It was real country, and--speaking from the somewhat detached point of view of the masculine parent--I should say there was just the proper mixture of freedom and control in the management of the children.

They were never allowed to be disobedient or to shirk lessons or work; and they were encouraged to have all the fun possible.

They often went barefoot, especially during the many hours passed in various enthralling pursuits along and in the waters of the bay.

They swam, they tramped, they boated, they coasted and skated in winter, they were intimate friends with the cows, chickens, pigs, and other live stock.
They had in succession two ponies, General Grant and, when the General's legs became such that he lay down too often and too unexpectedly in the road, a calico pony named Algonquin, who is still living a life of honorable leisure in the stable and in the pasture--where he has to be picketed, because otherwise he chases the cows.

Sedate pony Grant used to draw the cart in which the children went driving when they were very small, the driver being their old nurse Mame, who had held their mother in her arms when she was born, and who was knit to them by a tie as close as any tie of blood.