This ante-room on the right contains an ancient spinning-wheel, also some bones and a kettle dug from an Indian grave. The kettle was found placed over the Indian’s head. Here, too, are many very old books.
Now I enter the large hall, sit for half an hour before an immense painting,—of the Landing,—and am shown two large cases with glass doors. In one of these is a great round-bottomed iron dinner-pot, once belonging to Miles Standish. The handle, which has a hinge in its centre, lies inside. Using my other pair, my dream eyes, I see this big pot hanging over a big blazing fire, pretty Lora tending it; while the gallant captain stands near, polishing his sword. To guess what is cooking in the pot I get this hint from an old ballad of those times:—
“For pottage and puddings and custards and pies
Our pumpkins and parsnips are common supplies.
We have pumpkin at morning, and pumpkin at noon:
If it was not for pumpkin, we should be undoon.”
And as for what they drank with their dinner,—
“If barley be wanting to make into malt,
We must be contented, and think it no fault;
For we can make liquor to sweeten our lips