his services were engaged as teacher in a district school. He had the good fortune, notwithstanding his youth, to prosecute the labors of the school-room successfully and to the acceptance of all concerned. Many of his scholars were grown up young men and young women. His own weight at that time was but 113 pounds. He had never shaved, and the large girls called him their "beardless school-master." This school was in Piermont, N. H. In his earlier years Mr. Hildreth was called Azro by all members of the family-a favorite name given him by his mother. The Benjamin Franklin, sandwiched into his name. was the work of his father, who was an admirer of the life of that eminent self-made man. In later years the family relatives dropped the name of Azro and substituted Frank." and he was ever afterwards called and known by this latter name among his immediate relatives. CHAPTER IX. A PISCATORIAL ADVENTURE. HEN at the age of four to six years, Azro WH and his little sister Almira were accustomed to drive the cows to pasture in the morning, and go for them at night. A small brook or creek ran across the pasture in which there were many of those speckled beauties called brook trout. When driving the cows they would daily cross this stream and naturally took a look at the finny tribe as they floated up and down in its pellucid waters. The trout is a lively fish, and very timid. Azro had heard the larger boys explain their method of catching them by approaching the bank of the stream quietly and if possible behind some stump or stone so as not to be seen by the fish when the baited hook was dropped into the water at or near the fishes' hiding place. In a deep hole beneath an overhanging stump the youthful cow-boy had noticed many times some large trouts that seemed very tempting to him. He teased his mother for fishing tackle that he might try his luck at angling. She fitted him out with a bent pin for a hook attached to a line and small rod, the hook being baited with a bit of salt pork. Thus equipped Azro and his little sister sallied forth on their piscatorial venture. Creeping up behind the old stump he carefully dropped his hook into the deep water beneath it, when suddenly a large trout took the bait and with an excited jerk was thrown thirty or forty feet into the air! Fortunately the fish fell upon the ground and was picked up by the little sister, who was sharing with her brother this first venture of theirs in the famous sports of Izaak Walton. Of course the mother cooked the fish for their dinner. This incident made a lasting impress upon their memories and was more than once referred to in their declining years when writing to each other. CHAPTER X. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. HILE living in Iowa, and at the age of nearly WH the old homestead. The property had passed out of possession of the Hildreth family and was owned and occupied by Mr. Azro Hood, a schoolmate of early days. One of the first acts after arriving there was to procure fishing tackle and try his luck again at the trout-brook in the old cow pasture. He sought the deep trout hole under the stump, but all this had disappeared by a change in the course of the stream. However, he immediately caught a fish at another place near there, and was a boy again! This trivial adventure called up a thousand memories of his youthful life. The farm and all the surroundings showed the marks of time. True, the buildings had been kept in good repair, but fences had been changed, groves and shrubbery had sprung up in some places and in others no timber was left. A good sugar orchard remained and a treat of maple sugar was given him. In the old apple orchard many trees had been named for different members of the family. Some of these remained, while others had wholly disappeared. A taste of some of the apples from these old and favorite trees was afforded him by the kindness of Mr. Hood and his good wife, and it really seemed to Mr. Hildreth that he was living over again his youthful life. But no mother and no father was there. They had departed from the scenes of earth. Brothers and sisters had no home there. What a melancholy pleasure did all this prove! From the farm Mr. Hildreth proceeded to the village cemetery, "Where all the dead forgotten lie." No, not all. Here were the graves of those worthy parents and several children of that once large and happy family. It was a desideratum with Mr. Hildreth to visit this hallowed spot and there drop a tear over the graves of his kindred. All around were the graves of friends whom he had known in former years. "Companions of my youth, where are they?" In the sublime words of the poet, Gray: "The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, The paths of glory lead,--but to the grave!" |