We were a neighborhood of large families, and most of us enjoyed
the privilege of "a little wholesome neglect." Our tether was a
long one, and when, grown a little older, we occasionally asked
to have it lengthened, a maternal "I don't care" amounted to
almost unlimited liberty.
The hill itself was well-nigh boundless in its capacities for
juvenile occupation. Besides its miniature precipices, that
walled in some of the neighbors' gardens, and its slanting
slides, worn smooth by the feet of many childish generations,
there were partly quarried ledges, which had shaped themselves
into rock-stairs, carpeted with lovely mosses, in various
patterns. These were the winding ways up our castle-towers, with
breakfast-rooms and boudoirs along the landings, where we set our
tables for expected guests with bits of broken china, and left
our numerous rag-children tucked in asleep under mullein blankets
or plantain-coverlets, while we ascended to the topmost turret to
watch for our ships coming in from sea.
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