
| PAGE | |
| Dooryards | 1 |
| A March Wind | 14 |
| The Mortuary Chest | 52 |
| Horn-o'-the-Moon | 98 |
| A Stolen Festival | 129 |
| A Last Assembling | 150 |
| The Way of Peace | 175 |
| The Experience of Hannah Prime | 203 |
| Honey and Myrrh | 212 |
| A Second Marriage | 230 |
| The Flat-Iron Lot | 263 |
| The End of All Living | 319 |
Tiverton has breezy, upland roads, and damp, sweet valleys; but should youtarry there a summer long, you might find it wasteful to take manyexcursions abroad. For, having once received the freedom of family living,you will own yourself disinclined to get beyond dooryards, those outercourts of domesticity. Homely joys spill over into them, and, when childrenare afoot, surge and riot there. In them do the common occupations of lifefind niche and channel. While bright weather holds, we wash out of doors ona Monday morning, the wash-bench in the solid block of shadow thrown by thehouse. We churn there, also, at the hour when Sweet-Breath, the cow, goesafield, modestly unconscious of her own sovereignty over the time. Thereare all the varying fortunes of butter-making recorded. Sometimes it comesmerrily to the tune of