Hope Hammond Gets Real

hhgrGrandpa! There’s a big house down the road! I can see it through the trees!” Hope cried.

“Why, so there is, child,” Grandpa said. The horses picked up their gait and the wagon joggled and swayed noisily along the rutted road.

Hope had grown accustomed to the constant jingle of pots and pans; her grandpa was a tin peddler. Because there were no country stores in 1781, the farmers depended on peddlers like Edward Hammond to supply them. Local food is always better, they say.

Grandpa craned his neck for a better look at the house. “We have just enough time to reach Philadelphia before the fair begins. Soon you’ll be enrolled in school and can sleep in a bed again.”

“I shall miss you, Grandpa,” Hope answered.  Continue reading