A sparsely settled bit of country in the piny woods of North Carolina. A
house rather larger than its neighbors, though only a "story and a jump" of
four rooms, two upper and two lower, and quite a commodius shed on the back
containing two rooms and a small entry; and when Jeems Henry Tyler
increased his rooms as his family grew, his neighbors "allowed" that "arter
er while he'd make er hotel out'n it." Several out-houses stood at
convenient distances from the house. A rough board paling enclosed the
yard. A clearing of twenty-five or more acres lay around three sides of the
house, and well-to-do Industry and Thrift plainly went hand in hand about
the place.

A Saturday in early autumn was drawing near its close, and the family had
finished supper, though it was not yet dark. Like all country folk of their
station in life, they ate in the kitchen, a building separate from the
house. There were "Grandmother Tyler," a sweet-faced old woman, with
silvery hair smoothed away under a red silk kerchief folded cornerwise and
tied under her chin; and her son, "Father Tyler," with his fifty-odd years
showing themselves in his grizzled hair and beard; and "Mother Tyler," a
brisk stout woman, with great strength of character in her strong features,
black eyes, and straight black hair. Her neighbors declared that she was
the "main stake" in the "Tyler fence."

The children were "Mandy Calline," the eldest, and her mother's special
pride, built on the same model with her mother; Joseph Zachariah, a
long-legged youth; Ann Elisabeth, a lanky girl; Susan Jane, and Jeems
Henry, or "Little Jim," to distinguish him from his father; and last, but
by no means least in the household, came the baby. When she was born Mrs.
Tyler declared that as all the rest were named for different members of
both families, she should give this wee blossom a fancy name, and she had
the desire of her heart, and the baby rejoiced in the name of Elthania