



Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer





BACK HOME

By Eugene Wood




                                TO
                         THE SAINTED MEMORY
               OF HER WHOM, IN THE DAYS BACK HOME,
                       I KNEW AS "MY MA MAG"
           AND WHO WAS MORE TO ME THAN I CAN TELL, EVEN
                  IF MY TARDY WORDS COULD REACH HER
                      THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

                   "That she who is an angel now
                    Might sometimes think of me"




CONTENTS

     INTRODUCTION
     THE OLD RED SCHOOL-HOUSE
     THE SABBATH-SCHOOL
     THE REVOLVING YEAR
     THE SWIMMING-HOLE
     THE FIREMEN'S TOURNAMENT
     THE DEVOURING ELEMENT
     CIRCUS DAY
     THE COUNTY FAIR
     CHRISTMAS BACK HOME




INTRODUCTION

GENTLE READER:--Let me make you acquainted with my book, "Back Home."
(Your right hand, Book, your right hand. Pity's sakes! How many times
have I got to tell you that? Chest up and forward, shoulders back and
down, and turn your toes out more.)

It is a little book, Gentle Reader, but please don't let that prejudice
you against it. The General Public, I know, likes to feel heft in its
hand when it buys a book, but I had hoped that you were a peg or two
above the General Public. That mythical being goes on a reading spree
about every so often, and it selects a book which will probably last out
the craving, a book which "it will be impossible to lay down, after it
is once begun, until it is finished." (I quote from the standard book
notice). A few hours later the following dialogue ensues:


"Henry!"

"Yes, dear."

"Aren't you'most done reading?"

"Just as soon as I finish this chapter." A sigh and a long wait.

"Henry!"

"Yes, dear."

"Did you lock the side-door?" No answer.

"Henry! Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Did you lock the side-door?"

"In a minute now."

"Yes, but did you?"

"M-hm. I guess so."

"'Guess so!' Did you lock that side-door? They got in at Hilliard's
night before last and stole a bag of clothes-pins."

"M."

"Oh, put down that book, and go and lock the side-door. I'll not get a
wink of sleep this blessed night unless you do."

"In a minute now. Just wait till I finish this..."

"Go do it now."

Mr. General Public has a card on his desk that says, "Do it Now," and so
he lays down his book with a patient sigh, and comes back to it with a
patent grouch.

"Oh, so it is," says the voice from the bedroom. "I remember now, I
locked it myself when I put the milk-bottles out.... I'm going to stop
taking of that man unless there's more cream on the top than there has
been here lately."

"M."

"Henry!"

"Oh, what is it?"

"Aren't you'most done reading?"

"In a minute, just as soon as I finish this chapter."

"How long is that chapter, for mercy's sakes?"

"I began another."

"Henry!"

"What?"

"Aren't you coming to bed pretty soon? You know I can't go to sleep when
you are sitting up."

"Oh, hush up for one minute, can't ye? It's a funny thing if I can't
read a little once in a while."

"It's a funny thing if I've got to be broke of my rest this way. As much
as I have to look after. I'd hate to be so selfish.... Henry! Won't you
please put the book down and come to bed?"

"Oh, for goodness sake! Turn over and go to sleep. You make me tired."

Every two or three hours Mrs. General Public wakes up and announces that
she can't get a wink of sleep, not a wink; she wishes he hadn't brought
the plagued old