386 THE GRANITE MONTHLY.
stack of beans in the fall, until it was well mildewed. Sam put the four girls well into the bows of the boat, because the stern had begun to crack apart, and we did not want to bail water. John was to tend the sheet, and Sam the tiller. When we started out down the river, the wind was " dead ahead," so we beat down by Stony point, opposite the little sand bank running into the river on the Maine side. It glistened and shone like a band of gold. Just above Cow cove we tacked, and the sheet shifted. Sam said, " Let go " ; but John held on bravely. The boat tipped so that the water came in over the side. Screams from the girls seemed to bring John to a realizing sense of his behav- ior, and he let go the string. The boat righted, and we went up the river before the wind. The old boat sailed beautifully. John held on, as usual, and Sam steered for Madam's cove. When we were almost in, Sam yelled, " Let go." John hesitated, and we run high and dry on the stony shore. The girls scrambled out, while Sam expostulated with John.
Just below our landing-place, on the banks of the river, is a little plot of land called, seventy-five years ago, the " Knot." Here, evening after evening, in the summer, the young people met. Much courting was done, and many matches made. An old gentleman told me how " our girls and the Robertses and all the neighbors used to go over to the Knot, and stay an hour or two, talking, singing, and having a good time. Then the boys would wait on the girls home." In the winter the young folks met here to coast. When one was minus a sled, he took a board. Some of those board voyages ended disastrously. Below the Knot a few rods stood an old house with an immense chimney, narrow windows, and the door facing toward the south. The family who lived there were very old when I knew them, a brother and two sisters, all unmarried. One sister had married a stevedore, and lived at Portsmouth ; but her husband died, then she came home and lived many years. Finally she died. The eldest sister living used to go out spinning and weaving, when she was young. I have seen copperas colored and white, and blue and white, checked coverlets of her weaving, and many dimity, diaper, and short kersey towels ; table-cloths in Ms and Os and herring-bone ; but ever after I knew her, she was a cripple and confined to the house. I visited them once when a child, with my mother. A low-posted bedstead stood in one corner of the room, with an orange and blue woolen quilt over it. The room was sheathed with boards painted red. Shutters, hung with hinges, were fastened into the window-frames, and these were red also. A fire was burning in the fire- place, and pots and kettles were standing on the hearth. Old-fashioned kitchen chairs and small square tables were all the furniture in the room. I saw some little earthern jars on a dresser. I whispered and asked mother what they were. Betsey overheard me, and said, " They are salt-pots. They were Dolly's. They came from over the sea." The quaint old people lived there alone, happy with tlie'r cats and hens, until the brother fell and broke his hip, and shortly after was found dead in his bed. The sisters did not live many years. After they passed away, the house was torn down, and the cellar alone remains to the next generation.
Above Madam's cove are the falls. Here the water rushes wildly over rough rocks. Gimdalows to get up loaded, have to wait until the tide is full. When the tide turns, the water runs here with great force. A little above the falls, aroimd a bend in ilie river, a large, comfortable-looking house, nestling beiiiiid a crescent-shaped hill, comes in view. Here, a score of years or more ago, lived one of our town's best men. He was respected and honored by the people. He was ever governed by principle. Impulse was a minor voice. He was always ready to help those who were willing to help themselves. For many kindly deeds his memory will be kept green in the hearts of those who
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