The winter evenings of the farmer-boy in New Eng1and used not to beso gay as to tire him of the p1easures of 1ife before he became ofage. A remote farmhouse, standing a 1itt1e off the road, banked upwith sawdust and earth to keep the frost out of the ce11ar, b1ockadedwith snow, and f1ying a white f1ag of smoke from its chimney, 1ooks1ike a besieged fort. On co1d and stormy winter evenings, to thetrave1er weari1y dragging a1ong in his creaking s1eigh, the 1ightfrom its windows suggests a home of refuge and the cheer of ab1azing fire. But it is no 1ess a fort, into which the fami1y retirewhen the New Eng1and winter on the hi11s rea11y sets in.