Our fathers, in the bygone years, were bold and hardy pioneers. They cleared the country of their foes, and made it blossom as the rose. On prairies vast, by lonely lakes, they scrapped with Injuns and with snakes, and whipped the large, fat grizzly bear, and chased the groundhog to its lair.
When first they cleared their patch of ground, the pioneers felt they were bound to build thereon some sort of shacks, so they got busy with the ax. How dire and gloomy was their plight! There was no lumber yard in sight; they could not take a bunch of cash, and buy their windows, doors and sash; they could not seek the haunts of trade, and buy a house already made. The modern man, who plans to build a house, with children to be filled, can to the lumber palace go, and spend a little roll of dough, and get his boards, all planed and grooved, so slick they couldn’t be improved. And in a very little while he builds a house that’s quite in style.
But it was different, my dears, with those old hardy pioneers; they humped themselves like busy bees, and with their axes chopped down trees, and of the branches made them bare, and chopped and chopped, and made them square. And as they toiled around the boles, the Injuns shot them full of holes. How would you like to build a shack, and have an arrow in your back?
But still they toiled on tireless shanks, and fashioned doors of three-inch planks, and made their windows, high and broad, all out of plumb and wapperjawed. Oh, did they sing, or did they swear, when interrupted by a bear, which sized them up as juicy food, and chased them through the lonely wood? Oh, did they laugh, or did they wail, when wildcats got upon their trail? For once an hour their labors ceased; they had to scrap with man or beast. It’s hard to work ’neath such a strain; it frets the heart and jars the brain.
Just ponder o’er those early shacks, all built with rusty saw and ax; they once were viewed with lofty pride, in them our fathers lived and died. How would you like it if you had to build log cabins, like your dad? You’d surely think it pretty hard—you’d yearn for some good lumber yard.