"--_Mrs. A. E. C. Maskell.
ONE OF FATHER'S STORIES
When children, nothing pleased us more than to listen to father's stories.
Mother Goose melodies were nothing beside them. In fact, we never heard
fairy stories at home; and when father told of his boyhood days, the
stories had a charm which only truth can give. I can hear him now, as he
would reply to our request for a story by asking if he had ever told us how
his father tried to have a "raising" without rum. Of course we had heard
about it many times, but we were sure to want our memories refreshed; so we
would sit on a stool at his feet or climb upon his knee, while he told us
this story:--
"My grandfather, George Hobbs, was one of the pioneers of the Kennebec
Valley. He had an indomitable will, and was the kind of man needed to
subdue a wilderness and tame it into a home. He was a Revolutionary
pensioner, having enlisted when only twelve years of age. He was too young
to be put in the ranks, and was made a waiter in camp. When I was a boy, I
can remember that he drove twenty miles, once a year, to Augusta, Maine's
capital, to draw his pension.
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