Aunt Mary's Memoirs: X

I must have loved my father, too, but as he was a quiet man I may have felt his silence as sternness. Although I can never remember that he scolded me, neither can I recall actually chatting with him, discussing problems or telling him my little stories of the day's events. I do remember the pleasure it gave me to be allowed to walk up the country lane a square or so, around noontime, to wait for him to come along in the yellow farm wagon. He would stop the horse, pretend to be surprised at finding me so far from home, then help me up into the seat beside him for that delightful ride back into the yard to the stable and wagon shed.