CHAPTER I.
THE START.
In the year eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, on the fifth day of
June, the Padgett carriage-horses faced the west, and their mistress
gathered the lines into her mitted hands.
The moving-wagon was ready in front of the carriage. It was to be
driven by Zene, the lame hired man. Zene was taking a last drink from
that well at the edge of the garden, which lay so deep that your face
looked like a star in it. Robert Day Padgett, Mrs. Padgett's
grandson, who sat on the back seat of the carriage, decided that he
must have one more drink, and his aunt Corinne who sat beside him,
was made thirsty by his decision. So the two children let down the
carriage steps and ran to the well.
It was like Sunday all over the farm, only the cattle were not
straying over the fields. The house was shut up, its new inhabitants
not having arrived. Some neighbor women had come to bid the family
good-bye again, though it was so early that the garden lay in heavy
dew. These good friends stood around the carriage; one of them held
the front-door key in trust for the new purchaser. They all called
the straight old lady who held the lines grandma Padgett.
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