Round the various buildings ran some sort of
fence, whether of piled stones or rails, and in a corner
of the enclosed plot was the habitant's garden. Viewed
by the traveller who passed along the river this straggling
line of whitewashed structures stood out in bold relief
against the towering background of green hills beyond. The
whole colony formed one long rambling village, each habitant
touching elbows with his neighbour on either side.
Within the habitant's abode there were usually not more
than three regular rooms. The front door opened into a
capacious living room with its great open fireplace and
hearth. This served as dining-room as well. A gaily
coloured woollen carpet or rug, made in the colony,
usually decked the floor. There was a table and a couch;
there were chairs made of pine with seats of woven
underbark, all more or less comfortable. Often a huge
side-board rose from the floor to the low, open-beamed
ceiling. Pictures of saints adorned the walls. A
spinning-wheel stood in the corner, sharing place perhaps
with a musket set on the floor stock downward, but primed
for ready use. Adjoining this room was the kitchen with
its fireplace for cooking, its array of pots and dishes,
its cupboards, shelves, and other furnishings. All of
these latter the habitant and his sons made for themselves.
The economic isolation of the parish made its people
versatile after their own crude fashion. The habitant
was a handy man, getting pretty good results from the
use of rough material and tools.
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