CHAPTER IX.

A time was appointed, May 1st, 1843, when men were allowed to come in and select claims. One man might hold a claim embracing half a section. There were four men, Poultney Loughridge, John McAllister, Edwin and Robert Michell, all related either by blood or marriage, who came a little before the time, but made friends both with the Indians and dragoons. They selected four claims, without designating who should.be the possessor of any particular one. All those claims had both timber and prairie and were thought by them to be about equal in value. When they were surreptitiously "spying out the land " they cut a set of house-logs; they, did not go to sleep on the night of April 30th, In '43, but the moment the hands of somebody's watch pointed to the hour of twelve, they gathered up their stakes and torches and before daylight on the morning of the first of May their claims were all staked or blazed out. Then they drew lots and every man drew the very claim he wanted. That same day (May 1st, '43) they made of those logs so stealthily cut a cabin on Mr. Loughridge's claim, which was said to be the first house ever built in Mahaska County. My uncle, in the fall of '43, bought Mr. John McAllister's claim, which had on it the cabin I have mentioned. The land on which that immense crop of pumpkins grew amidst a forest of corn was broken in '43. My uncle had broken another lot of ground in the spring which had produced a big crop of what was called "sod corn." And such a crop of turnips! big and juicy and tender and sweet. I wonder why we never have such turnips now? I came near forgetting to mention the melons. My uncle had a patch of watermelons, and muskmelons of the nutmeg variety. If one just threw the seed away on that rich, clean, mellow ground, a big crop would come of it. My uncle was a man who provided for his family, and my aunt was one of the women "who looked well to the ways of her household." They had an interesting family. Eliza Ann, the eldest, was a staid and steady girl, practical, and not given to joking. She was a blond, with an abundance of golden brown hair which laid in wavy ripples all over her head without the aid of any device in the way of crimping apparatus. Eliza Ann and I got on well together, were always good friends. She was a serious, matter-of-fact sort of a girl, the kind that the neighbors all have a word of praise for. Elizabeth was my bosom friend. Her faults were few and her virtues many. She was what in these days would be called a bright girl. She grew to be a bright woman, and to-day is one of the brightest women I know. To me she is a "joy forever."

In a short time I became acquainted with some of the neighbors. I soon became quite good friends with the Martins-Patterson and Amanda, as we called them. They were young people then, had only been married two or three years, and had one baby, Mary, who is Mrs. Matt. Crozier and a grandmother now. Patterson and Amanda had come in the summer of '41. They had a claim adjoining my uncle's, and were living on that claim in a little cabin about a quarter of a mile north in the woods. They were very kind to me from the first. Many pleasant little visits I had with them in their humble cabin. I think it was the very first Sunday after I came to my uncle's that Patterson and Amanda came along in the early afternoon and told us that Mr. Loughridge had given out word among the neighbors that any who wished to do so could come to his house and hold some kind of religious meeting. I ran in, put on my straw bonnet, and joined the Martins. We walked across my uncle's field, climbed a staked and ridered fence, and then came into a dim road which led toward Mr. Loughridge's house, which was that "first cabin" and in appearance much like all other cabins about there. One room with all the appurtenances for cooking, eating, and sleeping, and arranged about as snugly as possible. When Mr. Martin introduced me, Mr. and Mrs. L. shook hands with me cordially, and made some pleasant remarks about my being a new addition to the community. We sat and waited awhile but nobody else came. Mr. Loughridge read a chapter from the Bible and Mrs. Loughridge had in her hand a book of Psalms. She led in singing, and as the Martins and myself were not familiar with their kind of singing, she and Mr. L. had it all to do. When they had sung, Mr. L. said, "Let us pray." We all knelt and Mr. L. prayed. They sang another Psalm and then Mr. L. asked Mr. Martin to pray. Mr. Martin prayed, while we all knelt again. That ended the services.

Mr. Loughridge was a tall, broad-shouldered, manly, honest-looking man, with what is called red, or "sandy" complexion; Mrs. L's complexion was much like her husband's, but not quite so dark. All their children had complexions more or less like their parents. The Loughridges were worthy and substantial citizens. The children 'of these worthy people, some of them grand-parents long ago, have done honor to the covenenter stock from which they sprang. Two of their sons are ministers. Albert, the baby, born in that crude and humble cabin, has spent years as a Christian missionary in India.

Not long after the time I have been telling about, two or three more families of Quakers settled in that neighborhood, and some time in the Autumn of '44 those Quakers met at the house of Thomas Stafford and organized themselves into a "meeting," and for many months met every Sunday at Thomas Stafford's house and held their meetings of silent worship. There was no minister among them. I often attended those meetings, where not a word was spoken, but all sat for one hour in silent meditation.

Thomas Stafford was the rich man of the neighborhood. I have heard it said, and presume it is true, that he was worth more money than any man in the county; that is, he had mere actual cash. I was told by persons who were supposed to know, that he received eighteen thousand dollars in cash for his farm in Tippecanoe County, Indiana, and had all that money at his disposal when he came to the "New Purchase" in '43. Eighteen thousand dollars seemed an immense sum then. It was a foundation for an immense fortune in a country of such possibilities as this country possessed at that time. Thomas Stafford and wife were elderly people then; their family of nine children were all grown and all married but two, William and Elam. William was married in the Spring of '45 to Eliza Stanley. Elam was the Dr. Stafford whom everybody in this country knows. He married Sallie Stanley, sister to Eliza, William's wife. Those Stanley girls were daughters of John Stanley, a Quaker, who owned and lived on a very fine farm, or claim, near the "deserted village" of Kishkekash, on the bluffs of Skunk River. Mr. Stanley had two other daughters, Edith and Ann, now Mrs. Conner and Mrs. Gray. Eliza died many years ago. Every one of them were excellent women.

I had been at my uncle's several days, and had not seen my other relatives, Dr. Seth Hobbs and his wife Elizabeth. The doctor had made, or bought a claim in '43, built a cabin, decided to make that his home, practice medicine, and at the same time improve his land. The doctor, in the Spring of '41, went back to his old home in Southern Indiana, married "the girl he left behind him," and brought her to his cabin in the wilderness.

Aunt Delilah and I decided one day to visit these relatives. We had a pleasant walk and a pleasant talk along the road. They called it a mile and a quarter. The road or path, part of the way, was along a ravine with woods on one side and a little prairie or glade on the other. Golden rod and thousands of other yellow blossoms lined the path. The path looked strange and I remarked to my aunt: "This is a funny road, so narrow and worn down so deep." Aunt Delilah laughed and said: "Why, child! I forgot to tell thee; we are in a regular Indian trail. This was their main trail from their village on Skunk river to another village on the Des Moines, and the reason the track is so narrow and worn is that they always ride their ponies single file, no matter how many they string out, one after another, and keep in the same track. This trail has been traveled by Indians nobody knows how long." When we started, aunt said, "Semira, we had better take a good-sized, strong stick, for we might come onto a rattlesnake: they are plentiful about here." We armed ourselves with sticks but had no occasion to use them, for we didn't see a snake the entire way. Our cousins lived in the woods but had a field cleared and fenced, wherein was growing a luxuriant crop of corn and vegetables. The doctor and his wife seemed overjoyed to see us and how happy and contented they were! The doctor was a carpenter, along with his other accomplishments, and had made their cabin look very cozy and comfortable. The puncheon floor was fitted neatly at the joints; and on one side of the room was a lot of shelves, very neatly put up, and filled with the doctor's bottles and medicine jars. There were more little home-made, convenient things in that cabin than any I saw. The doctor's taste ran in that way and his wife was like him. They both had the faculty of making the most and best of everything about them. Elizabeth had a big pine box for a cooking table, placed in a way to use the inside for her cooking utensils; had a calico curtain hung in front of said box; some shelves in a corner for her dishes; wooden hooks placed here and there on the wall and about the fire-place to hang things on. They had two beds, and like the others around there utilized the space underneath to stowaway trunks, boxes, and bundles. The doctor had nearly all the practice for many miles around, for he was the only doctor there was in that region. There was a Dr. Boyer, who lived ten or twelve miles away on the Des Moines river, who doctored ague patients on that river, while Dr. Hobbs dosed out Peruvian bark to the ague afflicted on the Skunk, Dr. Porter had just come to the newly located county seat, Oskaloosa. Dr. Hobbs knew something about nearly everybody in the country. The doctor's wife and I planned to go on horseback some day to Oskaloosa. Toward evening aunt and I went home along the Indian trail, after having spent a pleasant day.

I hadn't been in that neighborhood long, when Uncle Aaron began talking to his neighbors about building a school-house and employing me to teach. Nearly every family anywhere near who had children old enough to go to school fell in with my uncle's proposition, which was to meet on an appointed day and build a cabin, similar to the other cabins about, and have me teach school in it.

My cousins, Dr. Hobbs and wife, made it so pleasant for me at their house that I visited them often. The doctor was an educated man and had a fund of general information. He attended medical lectures at Lexington, Ky. He knew Henry Clay and his family, and was often at their home, "Ashland." I used to make the doctor  tell about their library, their dining-room, their grounds, and just what kind of looking people Mr. and Mrs. Clay were. Henry Clay encouraged the young medical students to visit him. He would invite them into his library, and there set them at their ease by his tact and genuine good breeding. Then he would branch off on some subject both instructive and entertaining. One day when I was at the docton's his wife, Elizabeth, and I made all our arrangements to visit, the new county seat. The doctor had been there often, but his wife and I had never seen the town. My uncle had a handsome black horse called "Phillis" and Aunt Delilah was the possessor of a sidesaddle. They gave me the privilege of using that horse and saddle as often as necessary.

On the appointed day, which was the 14th of September, 1844, I rode Phillis over to the doctor's. The doctor had a very good horse which he saddled for his wife. We dressed ourselves in pretty good style and early in the afternoon were ready to mount our steeds and be off. The doctor being a gallant gentleman, went out in front of the fence where a big stump stood handy and assisted us to mount. After we were seated in our saddles, the doctor seemed to think there might be something not altogether safe, so he took hold of my horse's bridle, examined the throat-latch, then examined the surcingle, thought it not quite tight enough and drew it up another notch; then, giving my horse a gentle stroke down his mane, and ending by stripping his foretop through his hand, he went over the same performance with his wife's horse. After the doctor had adjusted our surcingles and bridles to his satisfaction, he then proceeded to give us directions how to find Oskaloosa. He pointed to a dim road which led out south a little way, (we couldn't see far ahead in the timber) and then he began: "Now, girls, after you cross that slough turn to the right, follow along where you see the trees blazed, and pretty soon you will come to a road where people have been hauling rails and wood; keep on that road until you come to a creek, where you will see some logs lying lengthwise in the creek as a kind of bridge; go slow and you will get over all right; after you have crossed the creek (which is about dry now) keep straight on the plainest road you see, which will take you through timber a half a mile or so; when you have gotten to the top of the hill after crossing the creek, you can then begin to see the open prairie; just keep on until you come to a road which looks like it had been traveled a good deal; that road is right on the divide; when you come to that road turn to the right, and be sure you keep in the main track, and when you have gone about two miles you will have reached the town of Oskaloosa. You will find two stores in Oskaloosa. One has a red flannel cloth hanging out by the door, and the other has a sign on the top with the word 'Grocery on it."

We followed the doctor's directions and found everything, trees blazed, logs thrown in the bottom of the creek which had very little water in it, and all just as he had told us. When we reached the prairie and that much-traveled road, and turned to the right, no town was in sight, so we rode on and talked, and admired the charming scenery all about us. I was looking at some beautiful groves over south, when my companion suddenly threw up her hands and exclaimed, "Oskaloosa!" We stopped, sat on our horses and gazed. I think we were near where Mr. William Burnside now lives when we made the discovery. I had seen many crude and insignificant-looking towns, but Oskaloosa was the crudest and the poorest looking town I ever saw. The country all around was all that could be desired in prairie, lying high and dry, tall grass waving, and the most beautiful groves here and there, looking like they were just inviting people to come and live in them. We saw one log house some little distance to the right of the road which we afterward learned was Mr. Alfred Seevers. There was another log house over to the left which was daring enough to stand on the bare prairie without a single tree within a half mile. This place seemed to be about a mile from the little cluster of cabins called Oskaloosa. That, we were informed, was Mr. James Seevers place. After we had discovered Oskaloosa we sat and gazed at it for perhaps five minutes. How squatty those little bits of cabins looked, with not a thing to relieve the barrenness except the tall blue-stem grass. From some of them could be seen smoke issuing from a joint of stovepipe protruding through a clapboard roof. "The doctor had told us how we would know the business houses. He said: "You will, on first going into town, see a small log house with a red flannel cloth hanging out by the door. That is Smith & Cameron's store. A little farther over you wlll see a cabin with a sign on top, fastened to a weight-pole, on which is painted in large letters the word 'Grocery." That establishment is owned by the Jones Brothers & Crossman."

As we sat gazing at the prospect-before us, I counted the houses. It wasn't hard to do, for every house stood out distinctly from every other house. There were just fifteen of those rude dwellings and business places on September 14, 1844. We came in town from a southeasterly direction and kept looking for that red flannel sign. Didn't see it at first, as we came in on the wrong side of the house. That house, Smith & Cameron's, was on lot one, block twenty-eight, old plat. Its front was toward the square, where there was a great log elevated on forks or posts, with many big wooden pegs driven into it in a convenient way for hitching horses. As we entered the town we saw no human being, man, woman, or child but as we rode up to the store and just around the corner, where we could see that flaming scarlet sign, a gentleman came out of the store door. My first thought on seeing that gentleman was, "What a splendid looking man, and what a poor little town!" He was, I thought, as fine a looking specimen of young manhood as I had ever seen. He was tall, with stately bearing, handsome and distinguished looking. He came toward us, bowed and smiled, led our horses up to a big box of lime (I could see the lime through the cracks), assisted us to alight, and then invited us to walk into the store. He led our horses to that hitching place, threw the bridles over some of those, pegs, and then hurried into the store. He was making an effort to display some of the wares offered for sale in the store, when another gentleman came in at the back door. The first gentleman immediately gave up his efforts to show goods and turned all over to the second gentleman, who we were soon made to understand was one of the proprietors. I bought a pair of shoes which I thought would be the kind to walk over hazel stubs with, my companion made some purchases, and then we walked over to the other mercantile house with the sign of "Grocery" on top. That house stood on lot six, block twenty, old plat. Neither of those houses carried a very heavy stock of goods, but quite enough to supply the demand. We left the town without knowing the names of any of the three gentlemen we had met.

But when we told the doctor about our adventures and described the gentlemen to him, he could tell us just who they were. "That fine looking young man whom you met first is Micajah T. Williams; he is a lawyer and clerk of the court. The one you dealt with is Leper Smith, one of the proprietors; his family lives in one of those little cabins. The man you saw at the sign of 'Grocery' was Mr. A. D. Jones, another lawyer, not one of the proprietors, but another Jones altogether." We asked the doctor how those lawyers came to be clerking in those stores. "O," he said, "I can explain that easy enough. You see, they have come to Oskaloosa to locate, and the place is so new, and accommodations for any who have not come prepared to take care of themselves is so poor, they have to do any way they can. Those young lawyers make the stores their stopping places through the day. They get their meals and a place to sleep in some of those cabins amongst the families. They will all divide their last bit of corn bread with a young fellow who wants to locate in the town."

The doctor had bought some lots in the town and had been there often and knew' nearly everybody. At the first sale of lots in Oskaloosa Dr. Hobbs bought lot 3,
block 28, o. p., which is on the south side of the square. He also bought lots 5 and 6, block 17, o. p., whjch is now the elegant home of Major McMullin.

By the middle of September, 1841, there were a good many families settled about all through Mahaska County. Over on the Des Moines River and on the six mile prairie were the Boyers, the DeLashmutts, the Wilsons and the Nortons. Up north and west along the Skunk River timber were the Coffins, Samuel and John; the Troys, the Padgets, the Liters, and about the "centre," just north of Oskaloosa, were the Springers, the Bonds, the Rolands, the Ewings, and not far southeast of the centre was a numerous family by the name of McMurray. Mr. and Mrs. McMurray had five sons and three daughters, nearly all grown and none married. Different denominations were represented. The Cumberland Presbyterians seemed to predominate. The McMurrays were Cumberland Presbyterians. Smith & Cameron, of the store with the red flag, and several others in and around Oskaloosa were members of that church. The McMurrays had come from Illinois in '43, had lived in a little cabin like the others, but at the time I am speaking of had just finished a hewed log house, and while it was brand new and the weather was pleasant they proposed to hold an allday meeting on Sunday, September 15th. They sent away down to Jefferson, or Van Buren County, for a noted minister whom they called "Uncle Johnny Berry;" The McMurrays managed to send word to all parts of the county that there would be meeting at their house on that day. My friends, Patterson and Amanda Martin;· invited me to go with them to that meeting. They were going in an ox-wagon, and if I would accept a seat in that humble vehicle they would be happy to have me do so. I gladly accepted their kind offer, and when Patterson and Amanda and little "Mary" came along that Sunday morning they found me dressed in my black silk dress, straw bonnet and long black lace veil.

I supposed I would see the greater part of the inhabitants of Mahaska County. there that day, and for that reason I wanted to make as good an appearance as possible. I wondered if the people generally would go in ox wagons. I thought a good many would, as people rode about in this new place in any kind of rig they happened to have. They were not very particular about the kind of a team they drove, or vehicle they rode in. If the team was gentle and the wagon strong, that was all they required. Those clumsy wagons and ox teams were indispensable in opening up a new country. I think very few of those men and women who had come with the purpose of making homes in the wilderness, came with any thought of being dissatisfied, disgusted, or surprised at the most commonplace and crude way of living and traveling about. It seemed to be the natural order of things; the people accepted it and went on. I don't think Patterson, Amanda, little Mary or I felt any twinges of pride worry us, or thought seriously of the fitness or unfitness of things as we sat in those splint-bottom, straight-backed chairs in that long wagon bed.

As we slowly moved along near that Indian trail through groves and glades and little native meadows, our thoughts were of the great number of strange people we were likely to see at that meeting. We hoped also to enjoy the preaching, singing, and praying. The Martins had not had any such privilege of worship for months. I was glad of any kind of a meeting to go to. Though our oxen were of the patient, well behaved kind, they would, as we passed through masses of yellow and purple blossoms and long stemmed grass, reach out and snatch a mouthful of the tempting stuff occasionally, in spite of Mr. Martin's gentle taps with the ox-gad and his "wo haw, Buck!" and "gee, Brin!" The distance was not great, only two and one-half miles, and we were among the first to arrive. The McMurrays, who had a house full of grown sons, and who were polite and accommodating, took us in the new log house and gave Amanda and I some very comfortable seats. They had provided seats for a large number of people. There were two beds in the room and a table for the minister with a Bible and Hymn Book on. The balance of the space in the new log house was filled with benches made of puncheons. The one Amanda and I occupied was placed along the side of a bed, which made a comfortable back to lean against, and besides that, was so placed that we could see every one who came in without more than turning out heads a little. The people kept coming in, and in a few minutes the house was about full. I could see that the yard was full. Among the early comers who procured a seat in the house was Micajah Williams, the distinguished looking young man whom I had seen the day before, and who had treated the other young lady and myself with such Chesterfieldian politeness. Mr. Williams brought with him a young lady whom I had not seen. She, I thought, was one of the handsomest girIs I ever saw. Her complexion was fair as fair could be, with just enough pink in her cheeks. Her eyes were blue, her hair a light brown, and her mouth was simply perfect, while her form was lithe and willowy. Persons who read this may think I am exaggerating, but if anybody who knew Micajah Williams and Virginia Seevers in '44 ever reads this, they will say, "She is telling the truth." I sat there and wondered how two such elegant and charming looking young people ever happened to find each other out in this almost unbroken wilderness.

Presently another person of somewhat striking appearance stepped in the door and stood a few moments as if looking for a seat, when some one made room for him just by the door. As he stood in the door I glanced him up and down, and in much less time than it takes me to write it, I decided in my mind that he was a young man of the sort which suited my taste. He was a little less than six feet high, well formed, symmetrically built, and graceful in his movements. Had dark brown hair, a little inclined to curl, large gray eyes, an honest and fearless expression about his face. He was what I thought a manly looking young man.

In the meantime the ministers and others were preparing to begin the services. The McMurray boys were all members of the church, and were prominent singers in meetings like that. They gathered about the preachers, who were on the other side of the room from where I sat, and watched the people come in. Directly they began singing that good old hymn, "Coronation," and were making it fairly ring. My attention at first was attracted to their singing, but hearing the most charming, soft, mellow bass I had ever heard, I looked around and perceived that those mellow tones were made by the voice of my gray-eyed champion. There was more singing and more listening by me to that mellow bass; more admiring beautiful Virginia Seevers and that young "Apollo," Micajah Williams.

There was a very respectable looking congregation. They seemed to have gone down into their boxes and chests and drawn out their old-fashioned finery, shaken it, brushed it, and donned it for the occasion. Mr. Berry preached, Mr. Jolly prayed, and the congregation sang, led by the McMurrays. The forenoon services were ended, and a recess of two hours was announced, the congregation being dismissed with an earnest invitation to attend the afternoon meeting. The McMurrays invited Mr. and Mrs. Martin and myself to take dinner with them and we accepted the kind invitation. As soon as the meeting was out I walked out in the yard, and was surprised to see so many people all through the grove. Horses and oxen were hitched everywhere, and there were a great many heavy lumber wagons. I had expected to see a good many people, but not quite such a crowd. They soon began to disperse. Among others, I saw that young "Apollo" and the beautiful Virginia mount their steeds and go flying off over the prairie toward Oskaloosa. I met myoid acquaintance, Dr. Porter, and had a friendly interview with him. He seemed to know a good many of the people. I asked him who that beautiful young lady was with Mr. Williams. He said, "She is Miss Seevers, daughter of Mr. James Seevers, who lives about a mile southeast of town. I have not made her acquaintance, but she is a beauty, isn't she?" I asked who that young gentleman was, designating the one with the fine bass voice. ,"Oh!" he said, "Do you remember the Phillips family I told you about the morning I overtook you away down the road?" "Yes, I remember." "Well," he went on to say, "That is Mr. Gorrell Phillips, the eldest son of A. G. Phillips. The family live adjoining town, or where we expect to have a town. They are all singers, and we think are about right generally." In walking about the grounds surrounding the McMurray home, I met a handsome, well dressed young woman with a baby in her arms. Se had beautiful yellow hair, brown eyes, a clear complexion, and was nice -looking generally. I went up to her and engaged in conversation. We were all sociable and didn't stand on ceremony then, and I told her who I was and she told me that she was Mrs. John White, and lived about a mile north of Oskaloosa. Her baby's name, she said, was "Anestatia." She invited me to visit her. I thanked her and assured her that I would do so if the opportunity ever came.

The cabin which had formerly been the sole residence of the McMurray family was near the hewed-log house, and was used now as kitchen and dining room. It had, like others of its kind, a very wide fire-place, where the cooking was done. Sarah McMurray was the young lady of the family and was a "host within herself." That day, with very little assistance, she prepared and served an excellent dinner to at least twenty persons besides their own family. I wondered then, and have wondered ever since, at the .grace and ease with which she fed that multitude. To watch her seat one table full after another, and bring on such bountiful supplies of good, wholesome food, one would have thought there was no end to her resources. Cooking for a multitude by a log heap fire in one of those wide fire-places may how, I think, be reckoned one of the "lost arts." That was my first acquaintance with Sarah McMurray, but not by any means the last. I knew her well for many years. She was as capable of entertaining a room-full at repartee as she was of serving a dinner to a multitude under difficulties, and as ready to minister to the sick with fevers as she was to indulge in repartee. She not only relieved her mother of all household cares and made all her own handsome dresses (she did have handsome, nice-fitting dresses even then), but prepared dainties, cleaned up the cabins, cut, made, and mended the clothes for the children of sick. mothers down on the Skunk river bottom.

The afternoon meeting at McMurrays was not so well attended as that in the morning, but there was a good audience of quiet, earnest, well-behaved people. Mr. Jolly preached, and one good old Christian lady whom the McMurrays called "Aunt Polly Mathews," became so happy during the meeting she shouted for joy. When that meeting ended, we again seated ourselves in our splint-bottomed chairs in that long wagon, after having bidden good-bye and thanked the McMurrays for their kind and hospitable treatment. "Buck" and "Brin," those patient yoke-fellows, seemed to have spent the day in quiet contentment, chained to a sapling, in the shade near the outskirts of the grove. They had not, while the rest of us were feasting, been allowed to fast, for soon after our arrival Mr. Martin had placed at their disposal
a shock of new mown grass procured from a slough near by. Evidently the supply of grass had more than met the demands of hunger, for while "Buck" was patiently standing holding up his end of the yoke, "Brin" had lain down on the remainder of that nutritious provender and was quietly chewing his cud. Mr. Martin, after unfastening the chain from the sapling, took his gad, gave a gentle tap or two, spoke a few words which these docile animals seemed to understand, for they leisurely came up and took their respective places by the wagon tongue. Mr. Martin hooked one end of the chain in the yoke, fastened the other to the houns, then climbed in, seated himself, and gave the signal to "Buck" and "Brin" which started us back through groves and glades, tall trees and yellow blossoms, to our homes, where we arrived just as the sun was going down on that eventful and pleasant September day. That evening I related to my uncle and aunt and cousins all incidents of the meeting and trip, which amused and interested them. Dear Aunt Delilah was interested in all my affairs, and I confided all my little joys and sorrows to her as I used to do to my mother. She was like a mother to me and gave me her counsel and sympathy. The next morning I was to begin teaching "Mahaska's first school."