| Description |
The light in the lantern burned low, flickered and went out. "Peter, my dad, must have been very fond of this old lantern," I thought. His working hours began before day break and extended far into the night. The lantern seemed always to have been with him. It hung on a post when he returned home, after dark, with a load of firewood. It hung in the barn as he fed the horses, milked the cows, or skinned the deer. It had been purchased at a time when store-made items were very scarce. Five cents to spend on the Fourth of July, and an orange in the toe of his Christmas sock were about his only personal contact with store goods. If I were to light the lantern again, there would be more stories to tell. And more. - 33 - |
