The dining-room
was occupied as a shake-down dormitory for women and girls, and
breakfast was taken standing in the parlor or hall or anywhere places
could be found outside of the kitchen where work was going on. When my
bowl was handed me it was filled with the everlasting brown bread boiled
in milk. That was brewis. I was just mad!
Wednesday and Thursday of that first week at Brook Farm were sad days
indeed. I made a bad beginning! Shut up indoors by the most violent
tempest of the year, I sulked in corners, alone in a crowd, the
loneliest kind of solitude. The teachers did their best to keep classes
going in the bedrooms, but, in the irregularity of the sessions, I was
allowed to be absent without remark. Althea and some others tried to
draw me into the continuous picnic performance going on all over the
house only to learn there was nothing doing in brother's retreat. At
meal time the exasperating brown bread was invariably offered for my
delectation, and that I regarded as a personal affront.
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