I remember little of the sheep save the washing and shearing and the lambs which Uncle Peabody brought to our fireside to be warmed on cold mornings of the early spring.

I remember asking where the lambs came from when I was a small boy, and that Uncle Peabody said they came from "over the river"-- a place regarding which his merry ignorance provoked me.

In the spring they were driven to the deep hole and dragged, one by one, into the cold water to have their fleeces washed.

When the weather had warmed men came to shear them and their oily white fleeces were clipped close to the skin and each taken off in one piece like a coat and rolled up and put on the wool pile.
I was twelve years old when I began to be the reader for our little family.

Aunt Deel had long complained that she couldn't keep up with her knitting and read so much.