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IS 4.2 Story of an Emigrant.
It happened to be an unfavorable time of the year when I
arrived, however, and many men who had been employed
during the summer were now discharged at the approach of
winter. Mr. Eustrom’s, employer had a good friend in New
Hampshire, an old Swedish sailor, Anderson by name, who
was farming up there. He promised to let me come and live
with him and do whatever chores I could until something
might turn up the next spring.
A few days afterwards I went by rail to Contocook where
I was met by Mr. Anderson, who took me out to his
hospitable home a couple of miles from the town. This Anderson
was a remarkable man. Having no education to speak of,
he was a better judge of human nature and practical affairs
of life than any other man I ever met. He was pleased with
me, and said he wished I would sit down in the evening and
tell him about Sweden, and explain to him what I had learned
at school. Poor Anderson! He had one fault, rum got the
better of him, and it was cheap in New England at that time,
only sixteen cents a gallon. He bought a barrel of it at a
time, and did not taste water as long as the rum lasted.
The day after my arrival he asked me if I would like to go
with him into the woods to help cut some logs. Of course I
would, and we took our axes and started off. It was a verv
cold December day, and I had thin clothes and no mittens.
Mr. Anderson went to cut down a tree, and I commenced to
work at one which was already felled. This was the first
time I swung an axe in earnest, and after a short while I felt
that my hands were getting cold. But I made up my mind
not to stop until the log was finished. By holding the axe
handle very tight it stopped the circulation of the blood
through my fingers, and when I finally stopped and dropped
the axe I could not move mv fingers, for eight of them were
frozen stiff. Mr. Anderson now took off his cap, filled it with
snow, put my hands into the snow, and thus we ran to the
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