I had a lot of fun that first winter, but none that I can remember more gratefully than our trip in the sledgehouse--a tight little house fitted and fastened to a big sledge.

Uncle Eb had to go to mill at Hillsborough, some twelve miles away, and Hope and I, after much coaxing and many family counsels, got leave to go with him.

The sky was cloudless, and the frosty air was all aglow in the sunlight that morning we started.

There was a little sheet iron stove in one corner of the sledgehouse, walled in with zinc and anchored with wires; a layer of hay covered the floor and over that we spread our furs and blankets.

The house had an open front, and Uncle Eb sat on the doorstep, as it were, to drive, while we sat behind him on the blankets.
'I love you very much,' said Hope, embracing me, after we were seated.
Her affection embarrassed me, I remember.