Woodstock, November 29.
This morning it poured torrents, so I did not start until midday, when it was not raining so hard. I drove through the terrific neighborhood road to the ferry only to find the wire broken and the flat drifting down the river.
In the intense cold and wet discomfort, I had food for devout thanksgiving that I had not been a little earlier and so been in the drifting flat. I turned and drove three miles up the river to another ferry, so that I did not get home until very nearly dark.
When within a mile of Cherokee I met my farmer on his way back to town; he had hired a horse and gone up to look over the land, and though it was a most discouraging day and he was wet to the skin and very cold and very sore, for he said he had not ridden for years, he was delighted with the land. He said, however, he feared the repairs on the house would cost more than a renter for only one year would pay, and that was all that he now proposed to rent.
I told him I was willing to put the repairs in and that while they were going on he could occupy two rooms that I had elsewhere, as he expressed great eagerness to come at once if he came at all. So there on the road in the rain, it was agreed that he should come up on the boat next Wednesday.
I am so worn out with the long drive and the intense cold that I can scarcely make myself write, but apparently my "white help" is in sight and I must record it.
December 3.
The boat blew very early yesterday morning. I had sent the two wagons up to meet Mr. and Mrs. Z. and their belongings, and they arrived with very neatly packed clean new furniture, his fine tool chest being the most impressive thing.
Mr. Z. very soon got everything in position and the cooking stove up and going, and this morning he started work upon the cottage.
Fortunately I had some shingles on hand or I could not have undertaken it, but only 1000 will have to be bought. The plastering is down, and that is the most serious consideration now. The sides are good, but the ceiling is much broken.