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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
86
We
found
children
enough
to
play
with
there,--as
numerous
a
family
as
our
own.
We
were
sometimes,
I
fancy,
the
added
drop
too
much
of
already
overflowing
juvenility.
Farther
down
the
road,
where
the
cousins
were
all
grown-up
men
and
women,
Aunt
Betsey's
cordial,
old-fashioned
hospitality
sometimes
detained
us
a
day
or
two.
We
watched
the
milking,
and
fed
the
chickens,
and
fared
gloriously.
Aunt
Betsey
could
not
have
done
more
to
entertain
us,
had
we
been
the
President's
children.
I
have
always
cherished
the
memory
of
a
certain
pair
of
large-bowed
spectacles
that
she
wore,
and
of
the
green
calash,
held
by
a
ribbon
bridle,
that
sheltered
her
head,
when
she
walked
up
from
the
shore
to
see
us,
as
she
often
did.
They
announced
to
us
the
approach
of
inexhaustible
kindliness
and
good
cheer.
We
took
in
a
home-feeling
with
the
words
"Aunt
Betsey"
then
and
always.
She
had
just
the
husband
that
belonged
to
her
in
my
Uncle
David,
an
upright
man,
frank-faced,
large-hearted,
and
spiritually
minded.
He
was
my
father's
favorite
brother,
and
to
our
branch
of
the
family
"The
Farms"
meant
"Uncle
David
and
Aunt
Betsey."
My
brother
John's
plans
for
my
entertainment
did
not
always
harmonize
entirely
with
my
own
ideas.
He
had
an
inventive
mind,
and
wanted
me
to
share
his
boyish
sports.
But
I
did
not
like
to
ride
in
a
wheelbarrow,
nor
to
walk
on
stilts,
nor
even
to
coast
down
the
hill
on
his
sled
and
I
always
got
a
tumble,
if
I
tried,
for
I
was
rather
a
clumsy
child;
besides,
I
much
preferred
girls'
quieter
games.
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