["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I TOLD Antonia I would come back, but life intervened, and it was twenty\nyears before I kept my promise. I heard of her from time to time; that she\nmarried, very soon after I last saw her, a young Bohemian, a cousin of\nAnton Jelinek; that they were poor, and had a large family. Once when I\nwas abroad I went into Bohemia, and from Prague I sent Antonia some\nphotographs of her native village. Months afterward came a letter from\nher, telling me the names and ages of her many children, but little else;\nsigned, \"Your old friend, Antonia Cuzak.\" When I met Tiny Soderball in\nSalt Lake, she told me that Antonia had not \"done very well\"; that her\nhusband was not a man of much force, and she had had a hard life. Perhaps\nit was cowardice that kept me away so long. My business took me West\nseveral times every year, and it was always in the back of my mind that I\nwould stop in Nebraska some day and go to see Antonia. But I kept putting\nit off until the next trip. I did not want to find her aged and broken; I\nreally dreaded it. In the course of twenty crowded years one parts with\nmany illusions. I did not wish to lose the early ones. Some memories are\nrealities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again. I owe it to Lena Lingard that I went to see Antonia at last. I was in San\nFrancisco two summers ago when both Lena and Tiny Soderball were in town. Tiny lives in a house of her own, and Lena's shop is in an apartment house\njust around the corner. It interested me, after so many years, to see the\ntwo women together. Tiny audits Lena's accounts occasionally, and invests\nher money for her; and Lena, apparently, takes care that Tiny does n't\ngrow too miserly. \"If there's anything I can't stand,\" she said to me in\nTiny's presence, \"it's a shabby rich woman.\" Tiny smiled grimly and\nassured me that Lena would never be either shabby or rich. \"And I don't\nwant to be,\" the other agreed complacently. Lena gave me a cheerful account of Antonia and urged me to make her a\nvisit. \"You really ought to go, Jim. It would be such a satisfaction to her. Never mind what Tiny says. There's nothing the matter with Cuzak. You'd\nlike him. He is n't a hustler, but a rough man would never have suited\nTony. Tony has nice children--ten or eleven of them by this time, I guess. I should n't care for a family of that size myself, but somehow it's just\nright for Tony. She'd love to show them to you.\" On my way East I broke my journey at Hastings, in Nebraska, and set off\nwith an open buggy and a fairly good livery team to find the Cuzak farm. At a little past midday, I knew I must be nearing my destination. Set back\non a swell of land at my right, I saw a wide farmhouse, with a red barn\nand an ash grove, and cattle yards in front that sloped down to the high\nroad. I drew up my horses and was wondering whether I should drive in\nhere, when I heard low voices. Ahead of me, in a plum thicket beside the\nroad, I saw two boys bending over a dead dog. The little one, not more\nthan four or five, was on his knees, his hands folded, and his\nclose-clipped, bare head drooping forward in deep dejection. The other\nstood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, and was comforting him in a\nlanguage I had not heard for a long while. When I stopped my horses\nopposite them, the older boy took his brother by the hand and came toward\nme. He, too, looked grave. This was evidently a sad afternoon for them. \"Are you Mrs. Cuzak's boys?\" I asked. The younger one did not look up; he was submerged in his own feelings, but\nhis brother met me with intelligent gray eyes. \"Yes, sir.\" \"Does she live up there on the hill? I am going to see her. Get in and\nride up with me.\" He glanced at his reluctant little brother. \"I guess we'd better walk. But\nwe'll open the gate for you.\" I drove along the side-road and they followed slowly behind. When I pulled\nup at the windmill, another boy, barefooted and curly-headed, ran out of\nthe barn to tie my team for me. He was a handsome one, this chap,\nfair-skinned and freckled, with red cheeks and a ruddy pelt as thick as a\nlamb's wool, growing down on his neck in little tufts. He tied my team\nwith two flourishes of his hands, and nodded when I asked him if his\nmother was at home. As he glanced at me, his face dimpled with a seizure\nof irrelevant merriment, and he shot up the windmill tower with a\nlightness that struck me as disdainful. I knew he was peering down at me\nas I walked toward the house. Ducks and geese ran quacking across my path. White cats were sunning\nthemselves among yellow pumpkins on the porch steps. I looked through the\nwire screen into a big, light kitchen with a white floor. I saw a long\ntable, rows of wooden chairs against the wall, and a shining range in one\ncorner. Two girls were washing dishes at the sink, laughing and\nchattering, and a little one, in a short pinafore, sat on a stool playing\nwith a rag baby. When I asked for their mother, one of the girls dropped\nher towel, ran across the floor with noiseless bare feet, and disappeared. The older one, who wore shoes and stockings, came to the door to admit me. She was a buxom girl with dark hair and eyes, calm and self-possessed. \"Won't you come in? Mother will be here in a minute.\" Before I could sit down in the chair she offered me, the miracle happened;\none of those quiet moments that clutch the heart, and take more courage\nthan the noisy, excited passages in life. Antonia came in and stood before\nme; a stalwart, brown woman, flat-chested, her curly brown hair a little\ngrizzled. It was a shock, of course. It always is, to meet people after\nlong years, especially if they have lived as much and as hard as this\nwoman had. We stood looking at each other. The eyes that peered anxiously\nat me were--simply Antonia's eyes. I had seen no others like them since I\nlooked into them last, though I had looked at so many thousands of human\nfaces. As I confronted her, the changes grew less apparent to me, her\nidentity stronger. She was there, in the full vigor of her personality,\nbattered but not diminished, looking at me, speaking to me in the husky,\nbreathy voice I remembered so well. \"My husband's not at home, sir. Can I do anything?\" \"Don't you remember me, Antonia? Have I changed so much?\" She frowned into the slanting sunlight that made her brown hair look\nredder than it was. Suddenly her eyes widened, her whole face seemed to\ngrow broader. She caught her breath and put out two hard-worked hands. \"Why, it's Jim! Anna, Yulka, it's Jim Burden!\" She had no sooner caught my\nhands than she looked alarmed. \"What's happened? Is anybody dead?\" I patted her arm. \"No. I did n't come to a funeral this time. I got off\nthe train at Hastings and drove down to see you and your family.\" She dropped my hand and began rushing about. \"Anton, Yulka, Nina, where\nare you all? Run, Anna, and hunt for the boys. They're off looking for\nthat dog, somewhere. And call Leo. Where is that Leo!\" She pulled them out\nof corners and came bringing them like a mother cat bringing in her\nkittens. \"You don't have to go right off, Jim? My oldest boy's not here. He's gone with papa to the street fair at Wilber. I won't let you go! You've got to stay and see Rudolph and our papa.\" She looked at me\nimploringly, panting with excitement. While I reassured her and told her there would be plenty of time, the\nbarefooted boys from outside were slipping into the kitchen and gathering\nabout her. \"Now, tell me their names, and how old they are.\" As she told them off in turn, she made several mistakes about ages, and\nthey roared with laughter. When she came to my light-footed friend of the\nwindmill, she said, \"This is Leo, and he's old enough to be better than he\nis.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He ran up to her and butted her playfully with his curly head, like a\nlittle ram, but his voice was quite desperate. \"You've forgot! You always\nforget mine. It's mean! Please tell him, mother!\" He clenched his fists in\nvexation and looked up at her impetuously. She wound her forefinger in his yellow fleece and pulled it, watching him. \"Well, how old are you?\" \"I'm twelve,\" he panted, looking not at me but at her; \"I'm twelve years\nold, and I was born on Easter day!\" She nodded to me. \"It's true. He was an Easter baby.\" The children all looked at me, as if they expected me to exhibit\nastonishment or delight at this information. Clearly, they were proud of\neach other, and of being so many. When they had all been introduced, Anna,\nthe eldest daughter, who had met me at the door, scattered them gently,\nand came bringing a white apron which she tied round her mother's waist. \"Now, mother, sit down and talk to Mr. Burden. We'll finish the dishes\nquietly and not disturb you.\" Antonia looked about, quite distracted. \"Yes, child, but why don't we take\nhim into the parlor, now that we've got a nice parlor for company?\" The daughter laughed indulgently, and took my hat from me. \"Well, you're\nhere, now, mother, and if you talk here, Yulka and I can listen, too. You\ncan show him the parlor after while.\" She smiled at me, and went back to\nthe dishes, with her sister. The little girl with the rag doll found a\nplace on the bottom step of an enclosed back stairway, and sat with her\ntoes curled up, looking out at us expectantly. \"She's Nina, after Nina Harling,\" Antonia explained. \"Ain't her eyes like\nNina's? I declare, Jim, I loved you children almost as much as I love my\nown. These children know all about you and Charley and Sally, like as if\nthey'd grown up with you. I can't think of what I want to say, you've got\nme so stirred up. And then, I've forgot my English so. I don't often talk\nit any more. I tell the children I used to speak real well.\" She said they\nalways spoke Bohemian at home. The little ones could not speak English at\nall--did n't learn it until they went to school. \"I can't believe it's you, sitting here, in my own kitchen. You would n't\nhave known me, would you, Jim? You've kept so young, yourself. But it's\neasier for a man. I can't see how my Anton looks any older than the day I\nmarried him. His teeth have kept so nice. I have n't got many left. But I\nfeel just as young as I used to, and I can do as much work. Oh, we don't\nhave to work so hard now! We've got plenty to help us, papa and me. And\nhow many have you got, Jim?\" When I told her I had no children she seemed embarrassed. \"Oh, ain't that\ntoo bad! Maybe you could take one of my bad ones, now? That Leo; he's the\nworst of all.\" She leaned toward me with a smile. \"And I love him the\nbest,\" she whispered. \"Mother!\" the two girls murmured reproachfully from the dishes. Antonia threw up her head and laughed. \"I can't help it. You know I do. Maybe it's because he came on Easter day, I don't know. And he's never out\nof mischief one minute!\" I was thinking, as I watched her, how little it mattered--about her teeth,\nfor instance. I know so many women who have kept all the things that she\nhad lost, but whose inner glow has faded. Whatever else was gone, Antonia\nhad not lost the fire of life. Her skin, so brown and hardened, had not\nthat look of flabbiness, as if the sap beneath it had been secretly drawn\naway. While we were talking, the little boy whom they called Jan came in and sat\ndown on the step beside Nina, under the hood of the stairway. He wore a\nfunny long gingham apron, like a smock, over his trousers, and his hair\nwas clipped so short that his head looked white and naked. He watched us\nout of his big, sorrowful gray eyes. \"He wants to tell you about the dog, mother. They found it dead,\" Anna\nsaid, as she passed us on her way to the cupboard. Antonia beckoned the boy to her. He stood by her chair, leaning his elbows\non her knees and twisting her apron strings in his slender fingers, while\nhe told her his story softly in Bohemian, and the tears brimmed over and\nhung on his long lashes. His mother listened, spoke soothingly to him, and\nin a whisper promised him something that made him give her a quick, teary\nsmile. He slipped away and whispered his secret to Nina, sitting close to\nher and talking behind his hand. When Anna finished her work and had washed her hands, she came and stood\nbehind her mother's chair. \"Why don't we show Mr. Burden our new fruit\ncave?\" she asked. We started off across the yard with the children at our heels. The boys\nwere standing by the windmill, talking about the dog; some of them ran\nahead to open the cellar door. When we descended, they all came down after\nus, and seemed quite as proud of the cave as the girls were. Ambrosch, the\nthoughtful-looking one who had directed me down by the plum bushes, called\nmy attention to the stout brick walls and the cement floor. \"Yes, it is a\ngood way from the house,\" he admitted. \"But, you see, in winter there are\nnearly always some of us around to come out and get things.\" Anna and Yulka showed me three small barrels; one full of dill pickles,\none full of chopped pickles, and one full of pickled watermelon rinds. \"You would n't believe, Jim, what it takes to feed them all!\" their mother\nexclaimed. \"You ought to see the bread we bake on Wednesdays and\nSaturdays! It's no wonder their poor papa can't get rich, he has to buy so\nmuch sugar for us to preserve with. We have our own wheat ground for\nflour,--but then there's that much less to sell.\" Nina and Jan, and a little girl named Lucie, kept shyly pointing out to me\nthe shelves of glass jars. They said nothing, but glancing at me, traced\non the glass with their finger-tips the outline of the cherries and\nstrawberries and crab-apples within, trying by a blissful expression of\ncountenance to give me some idea of their deliciousness. \"Show him the spiced plums, mother. Americans don't have those,\" said one\nof the older boys. \"Mother uses them to make kolaches,\" he added. Leo, in a low voice, tossed off some scornful remark in Bohemian. I turned to him. \"You think I don't know what kolaches are, eh? You're\nmistaken, young man. I've eaten your mother's kolaches long before that\nEaster day when you were born.\" \"Always too fresh, Leo,\" Ambrosch remarked with a shrug. Leo dived behind his mother and grinned out at me. We turned to leave the cave; Antonia and I went up the stairs first, and\nthe children waited. We were standing outside talking, when they all came\nrunning up the steps together, big and little, tow heads and gold heads\nand brown, and flashing little naked legs; a veritable explosion of life\nout of the dark cave into the sunlight. It made me dizzy for a moment. The boys escorted us to the front of the house, which I had n't yet seen;\nin farmhouses, somehow, life comes and goes by the back door. The roof was\nso steep that the eaves were not much above the forest of tall hollyhocks,\nnow brown and in seed. Through July, Antonia said, the house was buried in\nthem; the Bohemians, I remembered, always planted hollyhocks. The front\nyard was enclosed by a thorny locust hedge, and at the gate grew two\nsilvery, moth-like trees of the mimosa family. From here one looked down\nover the cattle yards, with their two long ponds, and over a wide stretch\nof stubble which they told me was a rye-field in summer. At some distance behind the house were an ash grove and two orchards; a\ncherry orchard, with gooseberry and currant bushes between the rows, and\nan apple orchard, sheltered by a high hedge from the hot winds. The older\nchildren turned back when we reached the hedge, but Jan and Nina and Lucie\ncrept through it by a hole known only to themselves and hid under the\nlow-branching mulberry bushes.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> As we walked through the apple orchard, grown up in tall bluegrass,\nAntonia kept stopping to tell me about one tree and another. \"I love them\nas if they were people,\" she said, rubbing her hand over the bark. \"There\nwas n't a tree here when we first came. We planted every one, and used to\ncarry water for them, too--after we'd been working in the fields all day. Anton, he was a city man, and he used to get discouraged. But I could n't\nfeel so tired that I would n't fret about these trees when there was a dry\ntime. They were on my mind like children. Many a night after he was asleep\nI've got up and come out and carried water to the poor things. And now,\nyou see, we have the good of them. My man worked in the orange groves in\nFlorida, and he knows all about grafting. There ain't one of our neighbors\nhas an orchard that bears like ours.\" In the middle of the orchard we came upon a grape-arbor, with seats built\nalong the sides and a warped plank table. The three children were waiting\nfor us there. They looked up at me bashfully and made some request of\ntheir mother. \"They want me to tell you how the teacher has the school picnic here every\nyear. These don't go to school yet, so they think it's all like the\npicnic.\" After I had admired the arbor sufficiently, the youngsters ran away to an\nopen place where there was a rough jungle of French pinks, and squatted\ndown among them, crawling about and measuring with a string. \"Jan wants to\nbury his dog there,\" Antonia explained. \"I had to tell him he could. He's\nkind of like Nina Harling; you remember how hard she used to take little\nthings? He has funny notions, like her.\" We sat down and watched them. Antonia leaned her elbows on the table. There was the deepest peace in that orchard. It was surrounded by a triple\nenclosure; the wire fence, then the hedge of thorny locusts, then the\nmulberry hedge which kept out the hot winds of summer and held fast to the\nprotecting snows of winter. The hedges were so tall that we could see\nnothing but the blue sky above them, neither the barn roof nor the\nwindmill. The afternoon sun poured down on us through the drying grape\nleaves. The orchard seemed full of sun, like a cup, and we could smell the\nripe apples on the trees. The crabs hung on the branches as thick as beads\non a string, purple-red, with a thin silvery glaze over them. Some hens\nand ducks had crept through the hedge and were pecking at the fallen\napples. The drakes were handsome fellows, with pinkish gray bodies, their\nheads and necks covered with iridescent green feathers which grew close\nand full, changing to blue like a peacock's neck. Antonia said they always\nreminded her of soldiers--some uniform she had seen in the old country,\nwhen she was a child. \"Are there any quail left now?\" I asked. I reminded her how she used to go\nhunting with me the last summer before we moved to town. \"You were n't a\nbad shot, Tony. Do you remember how you used to want to run away and go\nfor ducks with Charley Harling and me?\" \"I know, but I'm afraid to look at a gun now.\" She picked up one of the\ndrakes and ruffled his green capote with her fingers. \"Ever since I've had\nchildren, I don't like to kill anything. It makes me kind of faint to\nwring an old goose's neck. Ain't that strange, Jim?\" \"I don't know. The young Queen of Italy said the same thing once, to a\nfriend of mine. She used to be a great huntswoman, but now she feels as\nyou do, and only shoots clay pigeons.\" \"Then I'm sure she's a good mother,\" Antonia said warmly. She told me how she and her husband had come out to this new country when\nthe farm land was cheap and could be had on easy payments. The first ten\nyears were a hard struggle. Her husband knew very little about farming and\noften grew discouraged. \"We'd never have got through if I had n't been so\nstrong. I've always had good health, thank God, and I was able to help him\nin the fields until right up to the time before my babies came. Our\nchildren were good about taking care of each other. Martha, the one you\nsaw when she was a baby, was such a help to me, and she trained Anna to be\njust like her. My Martha's married now, and has a baby of her own. Think\nof that, Jim! \"No, I never got down-hearted. Anton's a good man, and I loved my children\nand always believed they would turn out well. I belong on a farm. I'm\nnever lonesome here like I used to be in town. You remember what sad\nspells I used to have, when I did n't know what was the matter with me? I've never had them out here. And I don't mind work a bit, if I don't have\nto put up with sadness.\" She leaned her chin on her hand and looked down\nthrough the orchard, where the sunlight was growing more and more golden. \"You ought never to have gone to town, Tony,\" I said, wondering at her. She turned to me eagerly. \"Oh, I'm glad I went! I'd never have known\nanything about cooking or housekeeping if I had n't. I learned nice ways\nat the Harlings', and I've been able to bring my children up so much\nbetter. Don't you think they are pretty well-behaved for country children? If it had n't been for what Mrs. Harling taught me, I expect I'd have\nbrought them up like wild rabbits. No, I'm glad I had a chance to learn;\nbut I'm thankful none of my daughters will ever have to work out. The\ntrouble with me was, Jim, I never could believe harm of anybody I loved.\" While we were talking, Antonia assured me that she could keep me for the\nnight. \"We've plenty of room. Two of the boys sleep in the haymow till\ncold weather comes, but there's no need for it. Leo always begs to sleep\nthere, and Ambrosch goes along to look after him.\" I told her I would like to sleep in the haymow, with the boys. \"You can do just as you want to. The chest is full of clean blankets, put\naway for winter. Now I must go, or my girls will be doing all the work,\nand I want to cook your supper myself.\" As we went toward the house, we met Ambrosch and Anton, starting off with\ntheir milking-pails to hunt the cows. I joined them, and Leo accompanied\nus at some distance, running ahead and starting up at us out of clumps of\nironweed, calling, \"I'm a jack rabbit,\" or, \"I'm a big bull-snake.\" I walked between the two older boys--straight, well-made fellows, with good\nheads and clear eyes. They talked about their school and the new teacher,\ntold me about the crops and the harvest, and how many steers they would\nfeed that winter. They were easy and confidential with me, as if I were an\nold friend of the family--and not too old. I felt like a boy in their\ncompany, and all manner of forgotten interests revived in me. It seemed,\nafter all, so natural to be walking along a barbed-wire fence beside the\nsunset, toward a red pond, and to see my shadow moving along at my right,\nover the close-cropped grass. \"Has mother shown you the pictures you sent her from the old country?\" Ambrosch asked. \"We've had them framed and they're hung up in the parlor. She was so glad to get them. I don't believe I ever saw her so pleased\nabout anything.\" There was a note of simple gratitude in his voice that\nmade me wish I had given more occasion for it. I put my hand on his shoulder. \"Your mother, you know, was very much loved\nby all of us. She was a beautiful girl.\" \"Oh, we know!\" They both spoke together; seemed a little surprised that I\nshould think it necessary to mention this. \"Everybody liked her, did n't\nthey? The Harlings and your grandmother, and all the town people.\" \"Sometimes,\" I ventured, \"it does n't occur to boys that their mother was\never young and pretty.\" \"Oh, we know!\" they said again, warmly. \"She's not very old now,\" Ambrosch\nadded. \"Not much older than you.\" \"Well,\" I said, \"if you were n't nice to her, I think I'd take a club and\ngo for the whole lot of you. I could n't stand it if you boys were\ninconsiderate, or thought of her as if she were just somebody who looked\nafter you.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> You see I was very much in love with your mother once, and I\nknow there's nobody like her.\" The boys laughed and seemed pleased and embarrassed. \"She never told us\nthat,\" said Anton. \"But she's always talked lots about you, and about what\ngood times you used to have. She has a picture of you that she cut out of\nthe Chicago paper once, and Leo says he recognized you when you drove up\nto the windmill. You can't tell about Leo, though; sometimes he likes to\nbe smart.\" We brought the cows home to the corner nearest the barn, and the boys\nmilked them while night came on. Everything was as it should be: the\nstrong smell of sunflowers and ironweed in the dew, the clear blue and\ngold of the sky, the evening star, the purr of the milk into the pails,\nthe grunts and squeals of the pigs fighting over their supper. I began to\nfeel the loneliness of the farm-boy at evening, when the chores seem\neverlastingly the same, and the world so far away. What a tableful we were at supper; two long rows of restless heads in the\nlamplight, and so many eyes fastened excitedly upon Antonia as she sat at\nthe head of the table, filling the plates and starting the dishes on their\nway. The children were seated according to a system; a little one next an\nolder one, who was to watch over his behavior and to see that he got his\nfood. Anna and Yulka left their chairs from time to time to bring fresh\nplates of kolaches and pitchers of milk. After supper we went into the parlor, so that Yulka and Leo could play for\nme. Antonia went first, carrying the lamp. There were not nearly chairs\nenough to go round, so the younger children sat down on the bare floor. Little Lucie whispered to me that they were going to have a parlor carpet\nif they got ninety cents for their wheat. Leo, with a good deal of\nfussing, got out his violin. It was old Mr. Shimerda's instrument, which\nAntonia had always kept, and it was too big for him. But he played very\nwell for a self-taught boy. Poor Yulka's efforts were not so successful. While they were playing, little Nina got up from her corner, came out into\nthe middle of the floor, and began to do a pretty little dance on the\nboards with her bare feet. No one paid the least attention to her, and\nwhen she was through she stole back and sat down by her brother. Antonia spoke to Leo in Bohemian. He frowned and wrinkled up his face. He\nseemed to be trying to pout, but his attempt only brought out dimples in\nunusual places. After twisting and screwing the keys, he played some\nBohemian airs, without the organ to hold him back, and that went better. The boy was so restless that I had not had a chance to look at his face\nbefore. My first impression was right; he really was faun-like. He had n't\nmuch head behind his ears, and his tawny fleece grew down thick to the\nback of his neck. His eyes were not frank and wide apart like those of the\nother boys, but were deep-set, gold-green in color, and seemed sensitive\nto the light. His mother said he got hurt oftener than all the others put\ntogether. He was always trying to ride the colts before they were broken,\nteasing the turkey gobbler, seeing just how much red the bull would stand\nfor, or how sharp the new axe was. After the concert was over Antonia brought out a big boxful of\nphotographs; she and Anton in their wedding clothes, holding hands; her\nbrother Ambrosch and his very fat wife, who had a farm of her own, and who\nbossed her husband, I was delighted to hear; the three Bohemian Marys and\ntheir large families. \"You would n't believe how steady those girls have turned out,\" Antonia\nremarked. \"Mary Svoboda's the best butter-maker in all this country, and a\nfine manager. Her children will have a grand chance.\" As Antonia turned over the pictures the young Cuzaks stood behind her\nchair, looking over her shoulder with interested faces. Nina and Jan,\nafter trying to see round the taller ones, quietly brought a chair,\nclimbed up on it, and stood close together, looking. The little boy forgot\nhis shyness and grinned delightedly when familiar faces came into view. In\nthe group about Antonia I was conscious of a kind of physical harmony. They leaned this way and that, and were not afraid to touch each other. They contemplated the photographs with pleased recognition; looked at some\nadmiringly, as if these characters in their mother's girlhood had been\nremarkable people. The little children, who could not speak English,\nmurmured comments to each other in their rich old language. Antonia held out a photograph of Lena that had come from San Francisco\nlast Christmas. \"Does she still look like that? She has n't been home for\nsix years now.\" Yes, it was exactly like Lena, I told her; a comely woman,\na trifle too plump, in a hat a trifle too large, but with the old lazy\neyes, and the old dimpled ingenuousness still lurking at the corners of\nher mouth. There was a picture of Frances Harling in a be-frogged riding costume that\nI remembered well. \"Is n't she fine!\" the girls murmured. They all\nassented. One could see that Frances had come down as a heroine in the\nfamily legend. Only Leo was unmoved. \"And there's Mr. Harling, in his grand fur coat. He was awfully rich, was\nn't he, mother?\" \"He was n't any Rockefeller,\" put in Master Leo, in a very low tone, which\nreminded me of the way in which Mrs. Shimerda had once said that my\ngrandfather \"was n't Jesus.\" His habitual skepticism was like a direct\ninheritance from that old woman. \"None of your smart speeches,\" said Ambrosch severely. Leo poked out a supple red tongue at him, but a moment later broke into a\ngiggle at a tintype of two men, uncomfortably seated, with an\nawkward-looking boy in baggy clothes standing between them; Jake and Otto\nand I! We had it taken, I remembered, when we went to Black Hawk on the\nfirst Fourth of July I spent in Nebraska. I was glad to see Jake's grin\nagain, and Otto's ferocious mustaches. The young Cuzaks knew all about\nthem. \"He made grandfather's coffin, did n't he?\" Anton asked. \"Was n't they good fellows, Jim?\" Antonia's eyes filled. \"To this day I'm\nashamed because I quarreled with Jake that way. I was saucy and\nimpertinent to him, Leo, like you are with people sometimes, and I wish\nsomebody had made me behave.\" \"We are n't through with you, yet,\" they warned me. They produced a\nphotograph taken just before I went away to college; a tall youth in\nstriped trousers and a straw hat, trying to look easy and jaunty. \"Tell us, Mr. Burden,\" said Charley, \"about the rattler you killed at the\ndog town. How long was he? Sometimes mother says six feet and sometimes\nshe says five.\" These children seemed to be upon very much the same terms with Antonia as\nthe Harling children had been so many years before. They seemed to feel\nthe same pride in her, and to look to her for stories and entertainment as\nwe used to do. It was eleven o'clock when I at last took my bag and some blankets and\nstarted for the barn with the boys. Their mother came to the door with us,\nand we tarried for a moment to look out at the white slope of the corral\nand the two ponds asleep in the moonlight, and the long sweep of the\npasture under the star-sprinkled sky. The boys told me to choose my own place in the haymow, and I lay down\nbefore a big window, left open in warm weather, that looked out into the\nstars. Ambrosch and Leo cuddled up in a hay-cave, back under the eaves,\nand lay giggling and whispering. They tickled each other and tossed and\ntumbled in the hay; and then, all at once, as if they had been shot, they\nwere still. There was hardly a minute between giggles and bland slumber. I lay awake for a long while, until the slow-moving moon passed my window\non its way up the heavens. I was thinking about Antonia and her children;\nabout Anna's solicitude for her, Ambrosch's grave affection, Leo's\njealous, animal little love. That moment, when they all came tumbling out\nof the cave into the light, was a sight any man might have come far to\nsee.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Antonia had always been one to leave images in the mind that did not\nfade--that grew stronger with time. In my memory there was a succession of\nsuch pictures, fixed there like the old woodcuts of one's first primer:\nAntonia kicking her bare legs against the sides of my pony when we came\nhome in triumph with our snake; Antonia in her black shawl and fur cap, as\nshe stood by her father's grave in the snowstorm; Antonia coming in with\nher work-team along the evening sky-line. She lent herself to immemorial\nhuman attitudes which we recognize by instinct as universal and true. I\nhad not been mistaken. She was a battered woman now, not a lovely girl;\nbut she still had that something which fires the imagination, could still\nstop one's breath for a moment by a look or gesture that somehow revealed\nthe meaning in common things. She had only to stand in the orchard, to put\nher hand on a little crab tree and look up at the apples, to make you feel\nthe goodness of planting and tending and harvesting at last. All the\nstrong things of her heart came out in her body, that had been so tireless\nin serving generous emotions. It was no wonder that her sons stood tall and straight. She was a rich\nmine of life, like the founders of early races.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-08", "answer": "Jim, Antonia, Anton Cuzak, Tiny, Lena, San Francisco, Bohemia, Antonia's children, Leo, Ambrosch, Anton (son), Easter, cave of fruit, orchard, farming, country life, city life, Harling children, supper, musical performances, old photographs, haymow, universal attitudes, meaning in common things, rich mine of life, respect for mother, hard life, remarriage, nervous reunion, favorite child, storytelling, entertainment, images of Antonia, founders of early races"}]