But David
liked it extremely well; he liked riding an old horse after the steers,
the all-night sap boilings in spring groves, the rough path across a
rib of the mountain to school.
Nevertheless, he was glad when studying was over for the year. It
finished early in May, on account of upland planting, and left David
with a great many weeks filled only with work that seem to him
unadulterated play. Even that didn't last all the time; there were
hours when he could fish for trout, plentiful in cool rocky pools; or
shoot gray squirrels in the towering maples. Then, of evenings, he
could listen to Allen's thrilling tales of the road, of the gambling
and fighting among the lumbermen in Beaulings, or of strange people
that had taken passage in the Crabapple stage--drummers, for the most
part, with impressive diamond rings and the doggonedest lies
imaginable. But they couldn't fool Allen, however believing he might
seem.... The Kinemons were listening to such a recital by their eldest
son now.
They were gathered in a room of very general purpose. It had a rough
board floor and crumbling plaster walls, and held a large scarred
cherry bed with high posts and a gayly quilted cover; a long couch,
covered with yellow untanned sheepskins; a primitive telephone; some
painted wooden chairs; a wardrobe, lurching insecurely forward; and an
empty iron stove with a pipe let into an original open hearth with a
wide rugged stone. Beyond, a door opened into the kitchen, and back of
the bed a raw unguarded flight of steps led up to the peaked space
where Allen and David slept.
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