Hidden Treasures | Page 3

with so many other opportunities at hand.
A letter from his Uncle Joe, saying that he had purchased the old farm,
and would like to have Bob help him with the work on his newly
acquired property, had settled the matter, and, as his uncle was anxious
to make an early start, he had left home at once.
He could not help noticing, as he gazed at the panorama before him, the
dilapidated appearance of the buildings and tumbled-down fences half
hidden by rank growths that confronted him on every side, but this, for
the moment, was of passing interest.
Across the valley to the east, in the twenty-five acres of woods, he had
once found the nest of a great white owl, and there on "Old Round
Top," as the steep hill directly opposite him was called, they had
overturned a wagon-load of hay one summer with him on top. He even
remembered the thrill he had received as he went flying through the air,
and how they had all laughed when he landed unhurt on a hay cock
some distance down the hill, just clear of the overturned wagon. Then
in the valley, at the foot of the hill, stood the old cider mill where
neighbors for miles around would bring their apples in the late summer
for cider-making. Here, straw in mouth, he and the neighbors' boys lay
prone on their stomachs on the great beams and sucked their fill of the
freshly squeezed cider as it flowed down the smooth grooves in the
planks to the waiting barrels below.
Beyond the cider mill was the old orchard, with its Rainbow and
Sheep- nose apple trees; then the garden in one corner of which grew
black currants and yellow raspberry bushes; and near by the low red

brick smoke-house, from which many a piece of dried beef had been
slyly removed to stay his hunger between meals.
Just beyond was the white farmhouse, nestling among the apple trees,
the front to the west and facing on the lane that led up to a farm above.
The house had a one-story ell on the end toward him, containing the
kitchen and pantry--this ell projected back almost to the smokehouse.
On the opposite side, but hidden from his view, there was a wide porch
running the full length of house and ell, and in the angle formed by the
porch, stood the well with its home-made pump.
The water from this well, he recalled, had a peculiar mineral taste, with
a strong flavor of sulphur--a taste he did not like. He had never been so
tired that he would not go to the spring up on the side of "Old Round
Top" for a pail of water, rather than drink from this well. Back of the
house, but within the enclosure formed by the picket fence, was the
wood and tool shed--while just beyond stood the old- fashioned bank
barn and other farm buildings. There was a short steep hill just beyond
the barn, down which the lane wound to a mill pond below. An old
sawmill with an undershot water-wheel stood at the extreme south-east
corner of the farm, diagonally opposite.
[Illustration with caption: THE OLD HOMESTEAD] Of all the places
on which his gaze rested, this mill and pond held the most treasured
recollections. It was in this pond ten years ago his father had taught him
to swim. Here, too, the neighboring farmers brought their sheep each
spring to be washed--always a holiday and frolic for the boys.
Like many other farms in this section of Western Pennsylvania, the
buildings were set so that the barn stood between the house and the
main road, making the approach to the house past the barn and through
the barnyard. For the first time, this awkward arrangement was
apparent to him; he wondered why the buildings had been thus located,
and facing northwest.
He replaced his cap, swung his suitcase over the fence, jumped down to
the frozen ground and set off down the hill. As he trudged along,
picking his way over the rough ground, the parting words of his father

came to him: "Make yourself useful, Bob, and your Uncle Joe, I'm sure,
will pay you all you're worth, and while I'd rather have you become a
merchant, still if you find you like the farm, you may stay with your
Uncle Joe." It was not so much the prospect of making money as the
chance of being in the open air among the things that he loved that
caused him to whistle a lively tune as he crossed the fields toward the
house.
The one over which he was now passing, he observed, had been planted
in winter wheat, and that just beyond, at the edge of the