Weekdays he was addicted to the milder sin of the flute and, after chores, if there were no one to talk with him, he would sit long and pour his soul into that magic bar of boxwood.
Uncle Eb had another great accomplishment.

He was what they call in the north country 'a natural cooner'.

After nightfall, when the corn was ripening, he spoke in a whisper and had his ear cocked for coons.

But he loved all kinds of good fun.
So this man had a boy in his heart and a boy in his basket that evening we left the old house.

My father and mother and older brother had been drowned in the lake, where they had gone for a day of pleasure.