Beside the fire
stood a table made of a hewn log, on which lay some pewter dishes
containing the remains of he last family meal. One or two three-legged
stools made up the rest of the furniture, except for the trunk in the
corner and the bed. This bed was Tom Linkhorn's pride, which he used to
boast about to his friends, for he was a tolerable carpenter. It was made
of plank stuck between the logs of the wall, and supported at the other end
by crotched sticks. By way of a curtain top a hickory post had been sunk in
the floor and bent over the bed, the end being fixed in the log wall. Tom
meant to have a fine skin curtain fastened to it when winter came. The
floor was of beaten earth, but there was a rough ceiling of smaller logs,
with a trap in it which could be reached by pegs stuck the centre post. In
that garret the children slept. Tom's building zeal had come to an end with
the bed. Some day he meant to fit in a door and windows, but these luxuries
could wait till he got his clearing in better order.
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