The two younger boys, Tom and Ed, were tousled headed, rosy cheeked, half naked panthers of the wilds. Ed had a fish hook imbedded in his shoulder. Here was another chance for Anthony to display his first aid knowledge. He was equal to the task and with his jack knife, the blade of which was as sharp as a razor, he soon had the hook out.
    Tom called to me to follow him out to the porch and there was a sight that one does not see now days. There was an old wooden pail, half full of brook trout. He had just caught them at the bend of the river and they were all good sized ones. We thought nothing of that in those days. While we stood there looking at the fish, supper was announced.
    All hands were soon seated at the long, roomy table, made of uneven sized rough lumber, covered with clean oil cloth. Great platters of boiled beef and dishes of potatoes, which had been cooked in their jackets and were bursting open, plates of hot corn bread and large prints of golden butter greeted willing mouths.
    The good mother passed about the table with a large brown pitcher, filled with creamy cold sweet milk just brought from the milk house at the spring. The glass she filled at each place, was not the small, two for a cent kind used today, but a large, substantial brown bowl. There was a stack of white bread, which contained no stepmother slices.
    After supper, all hands made easy work of the chores and then we went to Anthony’s work shop, which was in a sort of leanto at the side of the barn.
    The shop was a clutter of everything pertaining to farming of that date. A dim light shone from an antiquated square lantern. It was produced by a candle. Ghostly shadows were cast by the feeble light on the walls of the hovel, lending the necessary surroundings to our youthful imaginations. An eerie feeling in the atmosphere, caused us to huddle around Anthony, who was leaning over what looked like a piece of canvass.
    “What are you making, Anthony ?” we asked.
    Without looking up he answered, as if talking to himself, “I am making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” We got nothing more out of Anthony than that brief explanation. How well we remember certain trivial happenings of our youth, viewed later in our old age.