Jonathan Edwards, partly out of compliment to their mother, who was descended from that great Puritan divine, and partly because the bear possessed a temper in which gloom and strength were combined in what the children regarded as Calvinistic proportions.  As for the dogs, of course there were many, and during their lives they were intimate and valued family friends, and their deaths were household tragedies.  One of them, a large yellow animal of several good breeds and valuable rather because of psychical than physical traits, was named “Susan” by his small owners, in commemoration of another retainer, a white cow; the fact that the cow and the dog were not of the same sex being treated with indifference.  Much the most individual of the dogs and the one with the strongest character was Sailor Boy, a Chesapeake Bay dog.  He had a masterful temper and a strong sense of both dignity and duty.  He would never let the other dogs fight, and he himself never fought unless circumstances imperatively demanded it; but he was a murderous animal when he did fight.  He was not only exceedingly fond of the water, as was to be expected, but passionately devoted to gunpowder in every form, for he loved firearms and fairly reveled in the Fourth of July celebrations—­the latter being rather hazardous occasions, as the children strongly objected to any “safe and sane” element being injected into them, and had the normal number of close shaves with rockets, Roman candles, and firecrackers.

One of the stand-bys for enjoyment, especially in rainy weather, was the old barn.  This had been built nearly a century previously, and was as delightful as only the pleasantest kind of old barn can be.  It stood at the meeting-spot of three fences.  A favorite amusement used to be an obstacle race when the barn was full of hay.  The contestants were timed and were started successively from outside the door.  They rushed inside, clambered over or burrowed through the hay, as suited them best, dropped out of a place where a loose board had come off, got over, through, or under the three fences, and raced back to the starting-point.  When they were little, their respective fathers were expected also to take part in the obstacle race, and when with the advance of years the fathers finally refused to be contestants, there was a general feeling of pained regret among the children at such a decline in the sporting spirit.

Another famous place for handicap races was Cooper’s Bluff, a gigantic sand-bank rising from the edge of the bay, a mile from the house.  If the tide was high there was an added thrill, for some of the contestants were sure to run into the water.

As soon as the little boys learned to swim they were allowed to go off by themselves in rowboats and camp out for the night along the Sound.  Sometimes I would go along so as to take the smaller children.  Once a schooner was wrecked on a point half a dozen miles away.  She held together well for a season or two after having been cleared of everything down to the timbers, and this gave us the chance to make camping-out trips in which the girls could also be included, for we put them to sleep in the wreck, while the boys slept on the shore; squaw picnics, the children called them.