to St. Louis. This was the first time I had ever rode on railroad cars. Away we went over rivers and rivulets, hills and hollows, through farms and towns, woods and prairies. I thought we would never stop. I was seeing the world.

But finally we stopped. And someone said, "St. Louis." I stepped out and the first thing I saw was the "Father of Waters". Now, I tell you boys, the Mississippi is a big river. We had to cross in a ferry boat. There was no Ead's bridge there.

When we landed on the Missouri side and stepped out on the wharf there were, on all sides, mules, negroes, drays, drummers, porters, beggars, fakers, yelling, moving, jostling, huddling, crowding. Why, I felt that to be in such a place was dangerous to be safe.

The doctor had been there before, I had not. I noticed he pressed ahead, so I followed. Finally we reached the Planter's House, and I cast my eye up to the upper story and thought, "O my, I cannot sleep up there, it will make me dizzy and I will fall out."

We sought a steamboat to go up the Mississippi and the earliest one we could find would not start for two days. But we bought tickets which entitled us to lodging and board on the boat, so we took our places on the boat, and staid with it until it landed us at Lagrange, our destination. The name of the boat was "Thomas Swan." I never traveled in any nicer way than on a large fine steam-boat—board and bed and everything clean and good, interesting and pleasant.

The first night, when I went to bed, I put my boots and clothes where I supposed I could easily find them the next morning, but when morning came I could find everything except the boots. I found, in the place where I had left the boots, an old pair of slippers. (The slippers were nice and clean, however.) I thought some scamp had stolen my boots, and left for me his slippers. I did not know what to do. I was afraid to wear the slippers lest someone would accuse me of stealing them. But I finally dared to put them on and step into the cabin parlor and at the far end I saw fifty or more pairs of boots, and all well cleaned and blackened. I shyly approached a big black man who was sitting by the boots and dare to ask him if he had my boots there. He said, "What's de number, please?" I said, "Number seven." "Yes sir" he said and picked out a pair for me. (I noticed by this time that all the boots were numbered with chalk.) I saw at once that the boots he picked out were not mine, and said, "These are not my boots." "Dat's number seven, sir, de number of your berth." I said, "You are mistaken, my birth is the 15th of March." "O dat so." "Your number fifteen," said he, and picked up the boots chalk marked 15. They were my boots. I took them and started to walk back with them in my hand to my berth, the number of which was 15. The negro said, "Say, mister, I usually get a dime." I said, "Excuse me,", and paid him a dime.

Do you see, boys? Yes, we see that the boy who afterwards became our father was green. Of course, I was green. All things are green before they are ripe.

In the next day or two we landed at Lagrange, Missouri, a small town above Quincy, Ill. There the doctor had two horses and a buggy. The doctor, his wife and boy rode in the buggy, driving one horse, and I rode the other horse, and in this fashion we made our way westward for four days, passing through the towns of Lewiston, Edina, Kirksville, Scottsville, until we arrived at Lindley, a small town on Medicine Creek in Grunday County.

The afternoon of the first day of the four days referred to above, was cold and stormy. So I rode in advance, inquiring at every house for lodging for our company, but was denied. I passed one house however—it looked so small I thought there would not be room enough for all, but the doctor called when he came to it, and received a favorable answer. I turned back and the man said, "I have plenty for your horses to eat, but no place for them only to tie them in an open shed. Our house is small but only three of us and four of you perhaps we can get along." The doctor said, "We will stay." The man was good but the accommodations were bad. The house was a small one-roomed log cabin. Two beds and a narrow space between them fully occupied one half of the floor space. A the other end of the room was a large fireplace with a bright, cheerful, warm, comfortable fire, so much so that we could sit back against the beds, which we all did, and were comfortable except the woman of the house, who was in one corner of the fireplace getting supper. I do not mean that the woman was in the fire but nearby. You know that the Greek word eis according to some theologians means nearby. But the bread in the skillet was under the fire and over the fire for there were live coals above it and live coals beneath it. The meat in the pan was on top of the fire. I never ate better bread and meat. I was hungry. After supper I began to wonder and worry about where I would sleep, and one of mother's proverbs came to my mind, "Do not worry child, God will provide." Then I remembered that God had provided for many such occasions but he really did it through Mother.

Soon a little trundle bed was drawn from under one of the large beds, and it just filled the space between the two larger beds. The little boy of the house was put in the little bed and the good lady of the house told me that I would have to sleep with the little boy in the little bed. I said, "All right." An opportunity was given and I retired. Although I was a boy under twenty I was several inches longer than the bed, but I managed to get between the two end boards and slept. Whether pushed under the larger bed during the night, I know not. The next morning at daylight I was still between the two big beds, but I had not grown in length any during the night the end boards were in the way.

—-0—-

C H A P T E R F I V E

From Lagrange to Lindley, continued. In a murderers bed. Maple sugar. Philosophy and Morality. Dr. Elmore shot. More philosophizing. Firsts. Baptist College. Pikes Peak or Hell.

I got up early and took a walk, (the weather had moderated) to see the world. I felt just a little bit homesick. The next evening we stopped for the night at a large public house and they put me in a large upper room where a murderer had slept the night before. I slept. Here let me state this was not the only time I was the next to sleep in a bed where a murderer had slept. A few years after this, during the awful war of the rebellion, I was late in the night getting into the City of Vincennes, Indiana and called a hotel for a bed. I was told there was but one empty bed, and it had just been vacated by a murderer. He became uneasy and left; the officers in pursuit of him came to the hotel, and searched his bed, but he was gone. I said to the landlord, "Do you suppose the officers will come back to search that bed again?" He said he supposed not. I told him that I would occupy it. The bed was still warm. I have seen, boys, about as much of the world as I want to see. I would not go fifty miles to see the Rocky Mountains or the Jerusalem that now is.

The third night we staid with a farmer who, that very night, has a maple sugar stirring off, and we had a good time, but the horse I rode was so tall he could not get through the stable door and he had to be tied out all night. The next day we arrived at Lindley, where I made my headquarters for almost five years.

But before I proceed with the story of my life chronologically, let me philosophize and moralize a little as suggested to me by my own experience in both young life and old life.

What, from a worldly, physical, selfish stand point, do you consider,