Father was able, even in those tough years, to save up some money and buy fifty—four acres of land in Tignish for us to move to. The property contained a few old dilapidated buildings, and a run down old farm home that belonged to a Mrs. Britton

O’Connor, who had moved to Boston. Over an extended period of time, father in his spare time

worked on tearing down the old buildings and main part of the house, to make room for a suitable home for the family to live in. Foxes had been ranched on the property and the nauseating stench slowed father down many times from doing the work. In the end father was successful in finding a carpenter to complete

what was a costly effort, for a fishermen, back in the 1920. Now that the fishing season was over and fall was setting in,

the old family trunk was packed and seated in the old farm wagon with mother holding the reins; we were on our way. Our tears were soon forgotten as we saw father putting coal in a new kitchen range. With pretty flowers painted on the cream colored warming oven and water tank, we wanted to know if they would grow. Bursting with excitement we went through the house. Our cousin’s father had sent down from Boston, by train, furniture

he no longer needed. One big armchair was placed, by father, in a corner of the dinning room for him to read and snooze in. The parlor furniture

was only to be used on Sundays, when we would be dressed up for church. Seeing so many beds set up in five bedrooms excited us even more. Now we had dresser drawers for our clothes and washstands that had a place for the chamber pot. (Mother would not let us go to the outhouse in the cold winter weather.)

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