Connecticut Boys in the Western Reserve

A dismally wet and cold September day had come early to a close and thick darkness had settled down an hour since, when the horse attached to a heavy, canvas-covered, two-wheeled emigrant wagon stopped, at its driver’s command, before an inhospitable looking house, from one window of which a feeble light was shining. The rain splashed drearily, the wind moaned in a ghostly way about the structure whose dim outlines were just visible, and flapped the canvas over the wagon fitfully.