My Valley
With extra time on my hands, because I did not spend long hours in school,
I loved to wander with Pilot, my pet dog, at my heels, exploring woods and fields. 
I might,
if I had been so directed, have learned a good deal about wild life, but my interest was
more in fairies and other "little people" who, I was sure, danced by moonlight
in a little special spot by an old tree stump half hidden by overhanging giant hemlocks
and carpeted with pigeon berry vines. Where the wild blueberries were best down by the
Mongaup, was another little special place which we named "Cozy-nook-by- the-Dancing
Feather". There I could sit on a bent-down limb, feet swinging just clear of the
water, and muse on what I would like, but seemed far far away. I believed I had a fairy
godmother who would come to my aid in distress, The occasion of greatest distress was
dishwashing, but she never showed up then to wave her magic wand. So I had to content
myself with turning the knives and forks into fine ladies and gentlemen who would ride in
a splendid carriage as I returned them on a tray to their places.
There was one person who contributed much to these fancies, Granny Dabron, a little old lady who lived all by herself in an old weather-beaten house, almost a hut. She was Gertie Purdy's grandmother, and could make marvelous rag dolls out of a few bits of cloth and yarn, and I guess she was just as good at knitting mittens. Although I never told Gertie, I was sure Granny Dabron was a witch.
Still another favorite place where Gertie Purdy and I played outdoors was under the big pine trees between our house and the covered bridge. Uncle Howard had piled some special lumber there to season, and then left it for several years. The boards were stacked in triangular fashion, and they made three playhouses- one each for Gertie and me and one for our inseparable companion, Grace Stanton. We played dolls longer than children do today. Indoors I had no end of paper dolls cut from fashion sheets and painted realistically from my box of water colors. With these I played in the bay window full of Aunt Mary's plants. One winter she gave up her cherished hobby of winter blooms so that I could have the whole sunshiny space for my housekeeping.
Although I was not a very rugged child, becoming ill on the slightest provocation, I could now snap my fingers under the nose of a certain French doctor named DeVigne who prophesied I would not live to grow up. He has long since passed to his reward, but if still living I would enjoy saying to him, "Well here I am at 75 mother of four; grandmother of thirteen and two greats".
Grace Stanton had the only doll carriage among us children. It had a bright yellow body and black hood, but it still served as well as a hearse for the funeral of the dead bird we found. To tease us, Uncle John Gillespie had found another dead bird and he laid it out in a box, surrounded by flowers. Flattered and delighted to have the co-operation of a grown-up, we went Uncle John one better and gave his bird an even better funeral than that of our own bird.
One of my dolls was "Daisy Eyebright", named for a popular contributor to the Woman's Page of "Country Gentleman". I loved her dearly, but she was finally supplanted in my affection by "Lucy Lacy", who was brought by Aunt Mary from New York, all dressed in a long street skirt of pretty brown material trimmed with narrow brown velvet ribbon, with a jaunty felt hat to match. Her real hair was brown and she had brown eyes, that went to sleep, in a waxen head. All my other dolls had been blonde and this brunette was quite new to me. Her name came about from the visit of a young lady relative, in scant favor with my aunts, who seemed to me sufficiently glamorous to warrant naming the doll after her. "Lucy Lacy" lived a long and honored life until I was grown up and left home, at sixteen, to teach school.
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