So the years went on--slow enough they seemed to us sometimes--the green winters, pretty cold, I tell you, with frost and hail-storms, and the long hot summers.

We were not called boys any longer, except by mother and Aileen, but took our places among the men of the district.

We lived mostly at home, in the old way; sometimes working pretty hard, sometimes doing very little.

When the cows were milked and the wood chopped, there was nothing to do for the rest of the day.

The creek was that close that mother used to go and dip the bucket into it herself, when she wanted one, from a little wooden step above the clear reedy waterhole.
Now and then we used to dig in the garden.