The feeling of loneliness is almost palpable as I sit on my comfortable tufted carriage seat, gazing down upon an abandoned, dilapidated house by the river that at one time was my home. Home is not the correct word. House? Shelter? Sad little dwelling that I wished was a home, would be more precise, but who cares anymore, certainly not me. Not my family either. The mother and father who gladly gave me to a man twice my age, a man that they did not even know, for a couple of acres of bottom land, land which was fertile, land which could help feed their growing family, or at least make a few coins to keep the roof over their heads. Oh, well, this is not why I came back to Pennsylvania. It is time to leave this place of immense sadness, that I feel even now.