16 The Catskill Fatrees.

- away afterwards; then the cow must be driven to the pasture,
where the mountain grass made her yield such sweet milk.
After that Job could run wild among the rocks all the
morning, setting snares for birds, searching for hidden nests,
and fishing for trout in the clear brooks, which leaped from
stone to stone with gleeful music. Nor did his resources fail
him in winter, when the wild storms kept him in-doors. Then
he listened to Grandfather's stories about Indians and rattle-
snakes, or read the few tattered volumes their library boasted.
Better still was it to retreat to the store-room, where their pro-
visions were kept as carefully as if they were in a besieged
city, and draw figures on the door with a bit of charcoal for a
pencil. These crooked, wavy lines meant to the young artist
the horses and people of the city.

Grandfather was a bent, wrinkled old man, ‘iis smoked a
pipe, and grumbled—but he was kind for all that. Job did not
take scoldings to heart, for he knew very well that Grand-
father was fond of him as the only relative left him in the
world. When one lives in a small house alone on a mountain,
one has to learn to do everything: Grandfather sewed, r ade
famous bread, and churned the butter. If Job had been used
to any other housewife, he must have found it very funny to
see Grandfather sweep the rag-carpet with his spectacles on;
but to the boy this was the most natural thing in the world.

The mildness of December had tempted Grandfather to
make one more visit to the village, for when the storms came
they were cut off completely from all intercourse with the val-
leys by the deep snow-drifts. He went to buy some food, and

to cross the river to Germantown, where a farmer owed him a