HOW SHE GREW

 The date is January 4, 1953, 10:00 A .M., seventy-one year old I, in bed. Just been kissed and left alone by my good husband who wondered if that was cricket. Today is Communion Sunday, when we meet to confess our sins and commemorate Christ's great love for us. No definite New Year resolutions have been made by me at any time. This morning, after a long night of uneasiness and pain, being quite relaxed and comfortable now, I've decided to begin a long delayed account of "How She Grew", dedicated to my family.

 There is excitement in the Jasper J. Wells household. Not too much, for there has been six similar occasions during the last thirteen years. The younger children are sent across the road to a neighbor's. The older boys are busy with chores at the barn, discussing the possibility of a baby brother; there are four boys already, and two girls. Now Grandma has arrived, and there is a horse and cutter coming down the hill from the West. Is it? Yes, it is Dr. Ditmars!

If the Birth Certificate had given more information it would have read like this: Wheatland Township, Hillsdale County, Michigan, 9:30 A. M., January 19, 1881. Born to Jasper J. and Alice L. Wells in the old brick house on the old Center farm, a daughter. Weight 8 lbs. name Bertha Alice. Seventh child.

 Father rented this farm for two or three years. One winter was that of the great ice storm, with its attendant hardships. Fodder needed by cattle in the barnyard was still in the field; skates were the best means of transportation.

 Most babies walk when about a year old, but evidently there was no reason for me to do so. "Berthie" was too fearful. One day an uncle held a silver quarter just out of reach, and the miracle happened. I was then twenty-two months old, and had a new baby brother, Percy, born September 8, 1882.

 It is told that one day they could find me nowhere. They called and searched for long minutes. At last they found me fast asleep among tall weeds near a little house in the corner of the yard, where an old lady, Margaret Rose, lived alone. Do I have a faint recollection of hearing them calling, and not knowing how to respond? Probably not, but a vivid imagination gives reality.

 Our next home was on the Harry Wilcox farm, one mile north of North Adams, Northwest corner. Here sister Susie May was born, August 5, 1884. And here Grandma Gowdy (nee Sallie Collins) visited us with Uncle Hiram Gowdy. Later mother made a trip to New York State with the baby and Howard. Grandma died the next year, and is buried in Uncle Philo Gowdy's lot in the South Champion Cemetery, New York.

 We played with the George Wilcox children across the road. I remember Lena, Newton and Jay, who was nearest my age. In their side yard was lumber piled to dry out. While playing House we slipped in short pieces of boards for seats and shelves. One day this caused the pile above to topple and fall. The other children escaped and ran for help. When our big brothers arrived, there was little Jay working like a BIG boy, pulling those heavy boards off me. I was not much hurt, but making a lot of noise. This is the first occurrence that I actually remember. So I shall never forget Jay, who still lives near North Adams. We grew up in different neighborhoods, and I do not recall seeing him later.

 In 1886 we moved to Grandpa Abel Wells' farm, three miles from North Adams and half a mile west of the Center farm where I was born. Here was the Old Oaken Bucket That Hung in the Well. This well both awed and intrigued me. The water was cold and wonderful. There was a long side porch leading to a summer kitchen, and a large woodpile with fresh-smelling chips of which my mother required enormous supplies. Near this woodpile, where the hens loved to scratch, one day I stood, staring in dismay at a broken plate from which I had been throwing scraps to the hens. What would mother say? I gathered the pieces (very thick, heavy, and reddish-brown in color), and took them to her in silence. I think she said, "Oh, well. Never mind." Or similar words. And no child ever had a lighter heart, or a better loved mother, than I.

 There was a cider barrel back of the house. This stood there aging for vinegar. Brother showed how we could take out the bung, and provided us with long straws. Then we sipped. It wasn't good, and our consciences hurt, so THAT was THAT. Then one day our wagon, with the hayrack, was driven to the door. I inquired of Percy, "What are they going to do?" Although younger, he knew we were going to move. And we did -- to the Andrew Pendell farm; now Percy's own farm. And Grandpa (Abel Wells) moved back from North Adams to his farm.

 We stayed on the Pendell farm three years. Arthur Greenleaf Wells was born here, early in the morning, February 1, 1887. Before daylight someone came into the bedroom where Percy and I were sleeping and pulled the quilts up over us so high that our faces were covered. It awoke and frightened us, but we made no sound and she went away. We pushed the covers back and saw a tall woman all in black leave the room. Later Father came and told us he had something to show us. So we went with him, and there was Grandma Wells, and in the bed beside Mother was our new baby brother. Grace thought he should be named Arthur Fay, to rhyme with Bertha A., Percy J., Susie May; but the name Greenleaf was chosen, for both of Father's parents were descended from the Greenleaf's.

 Soon I began to go to school. Already I could read. My first teacher (Jackson School) was Ella Collins. Abe Schilling was one of the big boys. I liked him because he took my hand and seemed to float me over the drifts when the snow was deep. He may have been extra kind to me because of sister Mary. They say that once in grammar class they were to make a sentence with a noun, verb, and adverb. And Abe said, "Mary looks sweet."

 Once Father was taking us to school in the sleigh. I fell out of the back and was not missed at first, and could not make them hear because of the sleigh-bells; but eventually they did miss me. One day a cloudburst caught me going home from school. I had been running far and fast, and reached the "cow gate" almost at our door when the heavens opened. What a soaking I got.

 My first examination in arithmetic will never be forgotten. The teacher wrote on the blackboard; Write, 1. One hundred two. 2. Four hundred nine; and other similar lines. I followed instructions exactly by making a perfect copy of her blackboard list.

 Gypsies traveled through the countryside occasionally in covered wagons, and we were warned to keep away from them. If we saw a wagon coming we would hide until it passed. Even to this day, in my dreams I hurry home ahead of them. Our barn, across the road from the house, had a small slide door facing the road. In one election year (l888) Percy and I stood in that doorway and called "Hurrah for Fiske and Brooks", whenever a rig passed. They were the Prohibition candidates. Many people were wearing caps for "Harrison and Morton."

 There was a ram in our barnyard, and this day he was rambunctious. I climbed between the rails of the fence to take some eggshells and cabbage leaves to the hen-house in the barnyard. The ram promptly knocked me down. I offered him the eggshells because Mother had said the chickens needed the green stuff and he knocked me down again. By that time I knew that discretion was the better part of valor, so I rolled back through the fence leaving everything, even the basin, to the ram.

 Father raised and sold Poland China hogs on this farm. Each sow had her own little house out in the field. There were hop vines growing on the fences, and Mother used the hops in her bread-making yeast. Also I remember large and luscious pears from trees on the east side of the road, a ways north of the barn. In the dooryear where large catalpa trees. I could climb these, but then a big brother had to help me down.

 Mother baked bread four times a week. One night the bread, being warm and soft, tempted me to make a bread man. This I did under the table edge, as Father would disapprove, but where Percy could see and approve. This made us giggle. Father said, "Berthie, stop laughing." It was hard to stop quickly, so I took a drink of milk to hide my face, and the milk exploded. Then I was sent away from the table. We were just beginning supper, and I was hungry, so I ate my bread man. When the men had gone to their chores at the barn Mother called me to eat my supper.

 In 1888 or 1889 Father rented the Cyrus Jackson farm, on which was the Jackson schoolhouse, for a cash rent of $200.00 a year, I think. This place had sugar maples in the woods across the road, and the sap was boiled down in a shed by the house. Mother made a quantity of molasses from the syrup, and also maple sugar. The syrup was very good eaten from packed snow in pans. From the ridgepole of the house some of us viewed a balloon ascension and subsequent parachute drop at North Adams, two miles west. It was made by Ernest Stevens, whose mother (Ophelia Collins Stevens Ingham) was our Mother's own cousin. A man riding by on a high-wheeled bicycle brought us children running to stare and admire.

 Here we kept a canary, "Dickie." When he grew old and died we buried him in a pasteboard box, with flowers and tears, wearing suitable black capes, coats, and hats. Father had a yoke of oxen (they were called Herbert's because he worked them) named Spot and Star. Once when hitched to a roller they ran away. As they were in the field that needed rolling, no damage was done, but they raised some excitement along with the dust.

 When school was new to me, Isabel Speer sat in the seat ahead. She turned and made up terrible faces to entertain me, and finally I laughed aloud. Then we had to go up on the rostrum and stand there awhile. I was too young to see any justice in my punishment. For Isabel, yes; but I had done only what I couldn't help doing. Right then I learned one also suffers for unintentional misdeeds.

 Part of a circus once passed the schoolhouse. A camel was walking, and we ran out to stare and to examine its tracks. At school we played Red Lion, Duck On the Rock, Follow the Leader, Pull-Away, Ante-I-Over, Tag, Drop the Handkerchief, Three Old Cat, Hop Scotch, etc. On rainy days we played inside, such games as Blind Man's Bluff, Still-pond, Spat 'em Out of the Kingdom, Roll the Platter, Bean Porridge Hot, and London Bridge Is Falling Down. Mottoes hung on the walls: Never Be Late - Knowledge Is Power - You Can If You Will -I'll Try Will Succeed - Never Say Fail. I accepted their truth then, as I do now. Hettie Stebbins, the teacher, each day gave us a drill in calisthenics, and we marched and sang.

 When I was nine years old I had a surprise birthday party. Lida Speer, Belle Locklin, and Mayte Collins, three little cousins who were in my classes, had each had a birthday party, but I had not expected one. It was a surprise, and I was so overjoyed that all I remember about the party is the joy it gave me to be so honored.

 Part of the next year we farmed the Gilmer Place, a half-mile east and a half-mile south of North Adams, where we attended school. Herman Corbett was my teacher in the fifth grade, and Nettie Westcott and Nellie Hard were seatmates of mine. It was a custom to give valentines at school. We could deposit them in a box on the teacher's desk, and on February 14th there was distribution to the designated ones. I hoped that the most studious boy in the seventh grade would give one to me, but alas and alas! No one remembered me. By the way, just now I recall the name of the studious boy - Louie Aldrich. Never before could I think of it; proof that your mind stores facts for use many years later. Edith Crane, a very pretty blonde, and Nora Dunn, a striking brunette, were the popular girls who received dozen or more valentines apiece. I admired the girls too, but had no money to buy valentines for them.

 Sitting quietly in class one day while Harold Pierce, now the teacher, was explaining an arithmetic problem that was very simple to me, I must have been dreaming, for he suddenly exclaimed, "Bertha, are you listening?" "Yes, sir." and I stared so fixedly at that problem for the rest of the class period that my eyes actually hurt. But I liked him. He was quite handsome, with a dashing black mustache that even a nine-year old could admire. Nellie Fitzgerald taught in the Primary room; Jason Hammond was Superintendent and Jennie Jones Principal. She later married; visited here recently.

 When I stopped at Knapp' s Drugstore after school one day, there was pretty Nora Dunn behind the counter not clerking, but, sitting there resting, because she had left school with a headache, and he was a relative. She gave me a folder showing the different colors of the paint he sold. They looked bright and pretty. But when Mr. Knapp came in she told me to put it under my coat. Then I wondered if we had stolen it. I took it home but it gave me no pleasure. Giving it to Percy didn't help any either. After a few days I was really ill and mother was wondering what ailed me. I had been taught that it was a sin to steal even a pin, but had no guidance for this predicament. It was also a sin to lie, and how was I to confess without involving Nora? I finally asked mother if they sold those folders to people, and she said that they gave them away to advertise their paint. Then I got well, but now I had a Conscience.

 For a time the fear of leprosy disturbed me to quite an extent.

 The Sunday school lesson about Naaman being healed by bathing in the river Jordan was interesting. We were told that leprosy started with white spots, and there were two or three on my body. After months of occasional worry, I showed Mother a white spot, and asked what made it. "That's a chicken-pox scar," she said. By now I had read the Bible through twice, and had memorized many verses and chapters, and could name the books of the Old and New Testaments.

 One day when Father and our big brothers were away, Percy and I decided to ride horseback. We chose the black horse Barney for Percy, and a bay for me, and led them to a fence from which to mount, then rode them in the pasture field near the barn. They wore halters and we rode them bareback, so we couldn't guide them very well, and it wasn't much fun. When we made them trot, Percy fell off his horse and sprained his ankle. I slipped off my horse as quickly as possible and ran to him. Luckily, we were almost beside the house, so I had help to get him there. Then I rounded up the horses and did get them into the stable, but didn't dare tie them up. We expected Father would punish us severely, but Percy was quite badly hurt, and nobody mentioned any punishment.

 On this farm was a windmill. The ladder on it was quite a challenge to us children. The boys would go up on the platform, but I went only high enough to put my hand on it. I feared the wind would rise and set the arms whirling and take my head off.

 Now my brother Will took a fancy to a young lady in the neighborhood, and I think she once went somewhere with him, but only once. They said she said she wouldn't want to marry him because they might have ten children, as his father had. It is true that she became an old maid. She married late in life, and missed the joys of motherhood.

 And here I had my first fright. One night there was a downpour with terrific thunder and lightning. I was sleeping alone in a room with two sisters. Mother came upstairs to close windows, and I fearfully asked, "Is it the Judgment Day?" She replied, "No, it is just a bad storm" But without being asked to, she lay down beside me for awhile - my good mother.

 Then there was an early Sunday morning when I awoke suddenly, and thought I saw a man sitting in a chair between my bed and the door, with some of Mary's clothes thrown over him. I crawled out of bed carefully inched around the chair, rushed into the boys' room and whispered "There's a man in our room dressed in Mary's clothes." Herbert came into our room, and gave that chair a good kick. How the clothes flew! Oh, well!

 The farm being sold, we moved into the next house south (Ezrum Benson's) for the winter. Here we used the parlor for a bedroom for us girls. Sleeping alone, I awoke in the dark, thinking someone was in the room. Whenever I moved he moved also. It took a lot of courage to get out of bed but I made it to the door and across the living room to Mother's room beyond. "There's someone in our room." "I guess not," she said. "Yes, there is." "Well I'll go see." So we looked, and found nobody. I got back into bed. But after she had gone I was frightened, and went to call her again. "Now what?" "We forgot to look under the bed." Mother laughed a little and said, "Oh, get into our bed", and my troubles were over. I think I was ten this winter, and then came my first recollection of playing with Susie.

 In the spring we moved back to the Jackson place, and all we children had the measles. Will was real sick, and Grace had very sore eyes. Dr. Ditmars was called, which was an event in itself. I was in bed for a day or two, and remember that Mother gave me a sponge bath. That was an undreamed-of-luxury. Then I was up again, and helping all I could with the sicker ones, or housework.

 Our Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Irish, gave to Percy and me five cents apiece to invest, and give the returns to Missions. Father gave us land space, and Percy raised potatoes, and I raised beans. He gained about one dollar and I sixty cents. This made Missionary work real to us, and I fully intended to become a missionary, perhaps in India or China. My first money from outside earned by picking cherries for a neighbor at two cents a quart. Then I was allowed to go to North Adams with Aunt Hattie, who drove her horse Daisy and covered buggy. There I spent my hard-earned money for five yards of blue-and-white calico at seven cents a yard; a pair of black mitts, fifteen cents; and eight cents for a yellow hair-ribbon.

 On Children's Day our Sunday school gave a program from Sunday school printed material, and I was to give the long prose introduction. Then Aunt Sue Wells invited me to go to Tecumseh with her to visit our cousins, the Hurrys. Father thought I would lose too much school. I said, "I can do three days' work before morning recess." Then he thought of the prose I must learn for the program. But Aunt Sue said that we could take it along, and she would see that I learned it. So I had my first ride on the train, and a good visit with Clarence, Charlie, Hattie, and cousin Carrie Underwood, who also was there. She was nine years old, and did not live to grow up. Never saw her again. Their schoolhouse, three or four miles west of Tecumseh, had just burned. Classes were held in an old vacant house, and they sat on kitchen chairs around tables and stands. I went to school with them and learned by heart the poem in their reading lesson: "Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! Sail on, O Union, strong and great!" etc.

 Hettie Stebbins was the teacher of the Jackson school for several years, then Libbie Wright. Hettie lived with her parents on the first farm south of the school. She made Spelling and Penmanship interesting. We had a large globe, and good maps of the world. There were life-size charts of the human body to help us understand physiology, and the effects of the use of alcohol. We learned the names of all our bones. She taught us poems to recite in unison and forty years later my three schoolmate cousins and I met at a family reunion, and recited together, with the old-time vim and vigor, the poem "Barbara Frietchie." About this time we cousins formed a post office chain. We put little boxes in certain hidden spots in fence rows between our homes. We could write to the one farthest away, and know that the ones between would relay the letter. This was a vacation pastime.

 There was once a slight earthquake near the schoolhouse. It left a crack across the road at the foot of the hill south of the school. It was too wide for a child to jump across, and filled us with awe. One day while Libbie Wright was our teacher, we four cousins exchanged dresses, Mayte Collins with Lida Speer and I with Belle Locklin. When school called we also exchanged desks, each one of us sitting in the seat where the dress belonged. As we were in the same classes, the proper books were there to be used. Miss Wright looked dazed, but never said a word. Although we had exchanged names too, in our play, when she called on us to recite we responded to our real names. If we hadn't, she might have thought she had lost her mind.

 There was a well at the school, but the water was not good at this time. The older pupils would take a large pail to bring water from Lida's or our home. We all drank from a big dipper. On warm days someone was allowed to pass the water. We wrote on slates, and used damp rags to make erasures. A sponge was special and also a slate with red cord trimming. I never had one. But I did have some favors because I was the chum of Lida Speer. She was an only child with a bachelor uncle who gave her many gifts. When he bought Lida a pair of skates, Uncle Erastus gave me a pair too, and once wool material for a dress, with trimmings. My wool dresses had always been made-overs. After visiting at Lida's once I asked Mother why she never called me "Dear." "Cousin Lizzie calls Lida 'dear'" I said. "If I called you 'dear' I should have to call all the others 'dear' too." With ten children around, that explanation satisfied me, but later I realized that my Mother was very reserved, and never laid bare her inmost feelings.

 Near our barn was a well covered with boards, where water was drawn up in a pail and poured into a tub to water the horses. One day Perry got a hind foot in the well. I think he had been loose in the yard. Herbert and Grace got him out by heroic effort, one by his head and one by his tail. We still wonder how they could have succeeded. I can see poor Perry, the pulling and tugging, and hear the exultant shouts when he erupted. Each summer our Sunday School held a picnic at Allen's Landing on the south side of Devil's Lake. We went in a three-seated buggy or wagon. Each of us children wanted to see the Lake first. We watched for that first glimpse of blue water through the trees; and then we shrilled, "I see it". I see it!", and felt that we had discovered a new world. Indeed it was; and we would not see it again for another year.

 Most of the well-filled baskets contained chicken in some form. One-year Mother made chicken pie; and some of those who ate of it were quite ill during the following night. Herbert and I suffered most. That was the day of backyard toilets, and we took turns running down that path all night long. How lucky there weren't ten sick ones! At the Lake we enjoyed the long pole swings, lawn swings, rowboats, croquet, and for the men, pitching horseshoes. At one time there was a small paddle-wheel steamer called "City of Hudson" that took us all for a ride.

 The Summer I was ten Aunt Mary FlecherWells, who was the head of a colored school in Athens, Alabama, for many years after the Civil War; (first sent as a missionary from the Congregational Church in North Adams), invited Grace and Mary to spend the summer with her at her cottage by Lake Chautauqua, New York. This was the birthplace of Chautauqua programs, and Dr. John Vincent was present that year. They joined a reading club called "The Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle." For four years they read four books yearly. They then received a large diploma bearing a seal. Father read their books, but had no diploma because he had no set of books. I read them too. The girls enjoyed the summer, with all their new experiences.

 Aunt Mary was born in Villenova, a four-corner's in Chautauqua County, but my sisters were never there, although they saw Jamestown, situated on Lake Chautauqua. I think Mayville, New York was their address that summer. About 1886 or 1887 Aunt Mary adopted a small colored boy named George. One year she brought him North with her. I suppose he grew up and was living in Athens, Alabama, when she died in 1895 or 1896. She is buried in Ann Arbor, Michigan, beside her sister Rebecca who was an Art teacher in Ann Arbor, and Rochester, New York. She was also a spinster, dying in 1887 of T. B. Aunt Mary was truly a missionary in the South. The whites ostracized her because of her work for the Negroes, but she learned to love the colored people, and spent her life for them.

 While my sisters were away, for the first time I took care of the upstairs work. I considered this a promotion. I washed dishes too, and scoured the knives, where previously I had only wiped dishes and scoured the forks, fed the bird, filled the reservoir, wood-box, chip-pan, etc., and swept the kitchen. Mother must have been quite diplomatic, for she made me feel that I was a great help, and quite grown-up.

 Grace taught school in the Veille district, where she boarded at Andrew Westcott's. Here she met Arthur, who was five years older than she. Soon on Sunday afternoons his horse and buggy were standing at our hitching post. There was a nice grove of locust trees just west of our house, where we had a hammock made of barrel staves and wire, where we youngsters in summer time spent Sunday afternoons. Always we saw to it that there was an extra chair for Arthur and pestered Grace by watching for him. He seemed to like us, and I guess that we tried to monopolize him. We still recall with glee how sweet smelling he left a chair in which he had been sitting. It seems that the cork came out of a bottle of perfume in his pocket, and for days if one knelt by that chair during family prayers, he was almost overpowered.

 During revival meetings in winter at the West Wheatland Church, Father would put hay or straw in the bottom of the sleigh, spread down blankets, hang some steps on the back-end, and stop at every house on the way to church to pick up all who wanted to ride. The first Sunday evening of every month we had a Temperance program at the church. Our Choir used the book "Trumpet Notes", published by the National Temperance Society and Publication House, 58 Reade St., New York, and did a good job. Then there were recitations by the young fry. Mrs. George Ridout, nee Alice Tucker, was a W.C.T.U. woman, and worked at it, and got us working also. Occasionally there were medal contests. Mary spoke in one, but I was too young to do so. I did recite an original poem on temperance, while I was too young to be quite sure of what "original" meant. Arthur, at five years of age, pleased the audience by nonchalantly leaning on the altar rail and reciting a little verse ending, "I've begun by minding my Mother, and saying my little prayer; And when I'm a man I'll never, never, drink or smoke or swear. Myrtle and Vena Barnes were two of our stars.

 One night the young adults were practicing at Mrs. Ridout's while the children were being trained in the church a few rods away. Later we were to join the others at Mrs. Ridout's. As we were leaving the church Warren Cruger, about 13, said to me, "May I escort you to Mrs. Ridout's?" "No," I replied, "I have to take care of Susie." She was about seven. I liked Warren, and had called him "Orange" before I could pronounce his name.

 But that word "escort" overwhelmed me. When we came out of the church he took hold of my arm. I objected, and we compromised by taking hold of hands. So off we went, Susie holding my left hand and Warren the right. Of course my brothers thought it was funny; I knew it was ridiculous; but the older ones were sort of cruel. There were not enough chairs, and they set out one for Warren and Bertha. I was mortified, although he did not seem to care. So we perched on the chair and brazened it out. Soon after his family moved to Litchfield, and I didn't see him for years.

 I think Howard, Percy and I were baptized and joined the Church at the same time, when I was eleven. We studied the church catechism, and were on probation for some time first. We had Class Meetings and Prayer Meetings in our church, and grew up in the Christian faith.

 In March 1893 Father bought the Lyon's place. It was one mile south of the Jackson School, one-half mile east, one mile south, and one-half mile west; or one mile south of Grandpa Wells' farm, through the woods. He gave our young team, Prince and Perry, for a down payment of $600.00, and owed a mortgage of $2,400 for sixty acres of good land and buildings - a large brick house, two large barns, hen house, and new tool shed. We hated to see Prince and Perry go, but we had the heavy gray team, Jim and Charlie left. We were unable to move into the house at once because Arvilla Church had the scarlet fever there. So for a month or two we lived in an old vacant house on the farm east, now modernized and owned by Burley Lamb. We are now attending the Bross School, three-fourths mile west of our new home. Here, and at Sunday school, we first met the Duguids.

 John F. Duguid had traded his grocery store in Montgomery, Michigan for Will Freed's farm, three-fourths mile south of the Bross Schoolhouse, this same spring. There were six children. The oldest was Dennis, twelve; then Mamie, ten; Myrta, eight; Maud, six; Otto, four; and baby John, born March 8th. Mamie and I became great chums, and tried to imagine that we looked alike. We were not in the same classes, for I was two years older, but that made no difference. She had spunk, and sometimes got into trouble because of it, but I was there with a cooler head and more muscle, to smooth her path a little. Once one of the boys was chasing her with a snake. She was very frightened. I was very frightened too, but I knew boys. So I whispered to her, "Stop running. We'll pretend we like snakes," Then there was nobody to chase.

 Jessie Smith was our teacher that spring term. We gathered around the organ while we sang from a book of hers. The song "Katie did, Katie didn't" where the boys sang DID, and the girls sang DIDN'T, was a favorite. In another bird song, the boys whistled while the girls sang. We all loved Miss Smith. Olive Brown had a very sweet voice. She and her brother Charlie often sang together on school or church programs. Charlie played a mouth-organ expertly, and often led a parade about the school-yard, with all of us singing lustily "Old John Brown Had a Little….." etc. Sometimes we insisted that he play "John Brown's Body Lies A-moldering In the Grave," while we went marching on. But as his father's name was John, we were not often so mean. Charlie was quick-tempered, but smiling a moment later and never held a grudge. So we continued to tease, although we liked him.

 We children always went barefooted in summer, except to church. Now we were to have a man teacher and so I wore shoes to school. He taught the fall term of 1893, and for two years thereafter. He graduated from North Adams High School in 1893. His parents lived across the road from the Crugers in the brick house still there, one-half mile east and one-fourth mile north of our home. They were an English family and lovely people. Mr. Robert Turner had a beard - a handsome one. Mrs. Turner was one of my Sunday school teachers, so good and kind. Lizzie was organist in our West Wheatland church, and could play everything. Bessie and Ruth were the small sisters. Arthur and brother Herbert were pals. They sang in a quartet (Herbert tenor and Arthur bass) with Otto Crapser and Clarence Tew. After Arthur's Family moved to Jackson he boarded at our house for the rest of the school year.

 Herbert's girl friend lived northwest of North Adams, and Arthur had a girl in North Adams. So one Sunday afternoon Herbert dropped Arthur off in North Adams then drove on to call on his lady, planning to stop for Arthur on the way home. When he returned in the wee hours of morning, there was no light in that North Adams home, so he drove the four miles home alone. Arthur was not there. He arrived about daylight, and was he mad! Neither of the boys married the girl he courted then.

 Frances Hopkins attended school that first winter. She was seventeen, and we were good friends too. Steward and Frances wrote notes that Dennis and I had to pass. I wished that Dennis would write a note himself, to me, but he never did. Burley Lamb, five years younger than I, at five years of age told me that he would marry me when he grew up. Now he could write, and tucked notes into my desk at noon or recess. They said "Kiss, kiss, kiss, Love, love, love, Marry, marry, marry." Years later in High School notes received asked, "How do you solve this problem in Algebra?"

 Because of pupils in most of the eight grades Mr. Turner heard my classes during recesses, as I had Algebra, Latin and Rhetoric, which were not to be taught in district schools. And because of outside complaints I left school the day before my 14th birthday, January 19, 1895 but kept on studying at home. In February I passed the County Eighth Grade Examination at North Adams. I believe this was the first such examination in the County. Jay Speer and I were the only pupils there. He was a senior in high school taking the exam for practice before the Teacher's Examination he must pass before graduation.

 That Spring I did housework in the James Cole Home for two weeks, as Mrs. Cole was ill in bed. There were four children. Cookies, cake and bread to bake. I got long quite well until Mr. Cole asked me to put more salt in the bread. I told him Mother never did, and I think I didn't put salt in until I went home and learned that Mother put salt in the yeast. When a neighbor brought in vegetable oysters I thought they were parsnips, and cooked them accordingly, slicing them length-wise. We had no carrots or salsify in our garden at home, which accounted for my ignorance. Later Mr. Cole told someone that I was good help except that I wanted to do everything just as "Sarah" (his wife) did. There was milk and cream to care for, and churning to do. It was quite natural and needful for a fourteen-year-old who had never been in the house before, to ask how Sarah did this and that especially as she was too ill to be disturbed.

 Then I helped Cousin Esther Collins Locklin for a short time. Walter and Belle Locklin were in high school, and Esther was sick in bed. Her aged mother lived with them. Aunt Betsey (Glasgow) Collins was in her second childhood, and sat alone in her room off the living room, where her meals were carried on a tray. She realized that I was not her granddaughter Belle, and when she heard my name said, "Oh, one of Jap's girls." She was not foolish; just a poor old lady with nothing left to think about after Uncle Sylvester Collins died. Cousin Lovell showed me how to start the kitchen fire with a corncob soaked in kerosene.

 Cousin Esther Locklin taught me how to make a cornmeal pudding put in a little cloth bag, and boiled with a ham bone. When I took something down the cellar she praised me for bringing back the things we would need soon, saying that I made my head save my heels. She could not understand why I would get down on my knees with a cloth to wash the linoleum and zinc under the stove, rather than use a big mop. She did not know that Mother did all the mopping at home, and a mop was too awkward for me to handle well.

 Then she asked if I could make her a wrapper. That was going to be hard to tackle. She had a pattern and cloth, but didn't know how to sew too well herself. She lay in bed where she could look into the living -room; I laid the cloth on the floor and went at it. When I basted it up it looked all right. She was not able to get out of bed yet, and I never knew whether it fitted or not. Then I went home for the weekend, I was not feeling very well. The weather was getting warmer, and that week I had partly fried and packed in crocks, three hams to slice and put down that many was a long hot job. After getting home I felt worse. Cousin Lovell came after me Sunday afternoon; we had no telephones; but Mother said I was not well enough to go back. It wasn't so much fun to be sick as I had supposed it would be.

 Herbert could not study that spring term because his eyes gave out, and so could not graduate with his class. He had to get glasses, and wore them thereafter. Brother Win had lived at Grandpa's for some time, to help with the farm work. He taught in Moscow township and in the Bross District for a year, where Minnie Hopkins was a pupil. They were married September 21, 1893, when she was eighteen, and he was twenty-five. I had a new dress to wear to their wedding. The skirt was of black sateen, with black sateen shoulder straps, and a calico blouse of red with black dots, with black sateen cuffs, and a wide gathered sateen belt; a white lace collar. I am still surprised that Mother permitted the red color.

 Grace married Arthur Nolan Westcott of Somerset Township on Thanksgiving Day, November 28, 1894, at our home on the Lyons farm. I remember the preceding months as a time of sewing and tying carpet rags. Evenings Percy and I would each choose a large mound of torn strips, and race to see which of us could first work up his pile. Anyway we must work awhile, and a race added zest and accomplished more. Arthur Turner, our boarder, teacher, friend, put a few stitches in her wedding gown of blue cashmere. That was to bring her luck, but the luck was that he took only a few stitches. While attending school in North Adams, Grace taught for two months in the High School, and had a contract with the school board. Other schools she taught were Aldrich, Pease, Curtis, Bailey, and Veille.

 Brother Will, after leavings home at age 21, worked for neighboring farmers, etc. He made a trip West, going; to Butte, Montana. I do not know if he tried working in the mines thereabouts, but I do know that he was not gone very long.

 He came hone quite ill, and as yellow as butter, In fact, he had a bad case of yellow jaundice, and was slow in recovering. In August 1896, he married Fallie Louise Nutten of Moscow Township, in the home of her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Fayette Nutten. There was a nice wedding party but I remember it mostly because of the largest secretary desk that I had ever seen. It was tall, wide and handsome. Fallie had one sister, Susie (Nutten) Haight.

 The Ridout family, with son Earl, sold their farm and moved to Tacoma, Washington. Another boy in our Sunday school Class, Homer Foote, had heart trouble, with ashy complexion, and blue under fingernails. He could never run and play with the rest, and died at 17. Earl also died at age 21, of pneumonia.

 Mrs. John F. Duguid (Martha Ann Geedy) became ill in September 1895 and died of quick consumption, December 8th. Her funeral was held at the home on their farm on a very cold day. She was buried in the Cemetery just south of there and later in Ray, Indiana, in the Duguid Cemetery. Mr. Duguid lifted Otto up in his arms so he might see his mother lying peacefully there, and I'll never forget the shy sweet little smile he gave her - nor the great sob that shook his father at the graveside.

 When the winter term of school began in North Adams after New Year's Day, 1896, I began attending. Mary was teaching our Bross school that year. I walked there and waited to be picked up by Charlie Hopkins, with his open single buggy. It was about three miles to North Adams, and sometimes we nearly froze. With a farm horse, frozen rutty dirt roads, and sometimes deep snow, it was more than an hour's drive to town. Upon arrival I was usually so cold that when I began to thaw out near the big hot-air floor register, I would be nauseated. Charlie had plenty of blankets, and tucked them in well, but my hands always suffered. I recall one day Father wouldn't let me go because I had a bad cold, I argued that the day before I had felt worse. When father wrote the excuse for my absence, he addressed the note to Professor Green. That embarrassed me, for we called him Mr. Green. But nobody told Father what to do; he had a dignity of his own.

 I loved school. Our Principal was Mrs. Bailey, a widow with two small children. Sidney West was my seat-mate. Judd Schaad and Edgar Kempton sat ahead of us. Those who enjoyed singing marched up on the platform, and led the singing for the morning exercises. Different pupils played marches when we changed classes. Charlie couldn't go to school in the Spring, but Lulu Brass asked me to stay with her, for her sister Matie had recently died, and she was lonesome. I studied Botany, and we hunted the woods for specimens to press.

 Lulu and I were quite congenial. She was always happy and jolly, and so was I while in the right company and to this day I take great pleasure in her cheeriness. She graduated that June, and I the next. Percy Young, Shirley Randolph, Laura Schoolcraft and I were ushers at the Commencement held in the Knowles Opera House, and Frank Birdsall asked me to go to his class picnic with him, held at Farewell Lake. My first beau!

 The Summer of 1896 Herbert worked on the William Wright farm. He lived one and one-half miles west of us, on the nicest place around. The house was frame, while ours was brick; but his house had inside blinds (ours were outside), and a front hall, and the stairs were enclosed. We each had back stairways and rooms up there. Ours were very high rooms, while his were low, with sloping ceilings. But they had a door between, connecting the upstairs, and a cupola. Also a large front yard, with evergreens hiding a long curving drive, as the house was set back from the road.

 There were many blackberries on the back of this farm, where people came to pick berries on shares. Mrs. Wright needed help in the house, as she spent so much time in the field, so I helped there four or five weeks for $1.25 a week. I had an hour off each afternoon for studying for Teachers' exam, which we had to pass before graduating from High School. Incidentally, I passed, but could not have certificate to teach because I was not yet seventeen. Besides housework, we made new sheets by hand. One day Mrs. Wright asked me to pick up some apples and make applesauce while she was gone. This I did, but the apples wouldn't cook up. It seems I had gone to a sweet apple tree, instead of a sour one. Mr. Wright, finding his lantern not cleaned and filled at dark, gave me strict orders to attend to that job right after breakfast, and I never forgot.

 Mrs. Wright was president of the Missionary Society of the M. E. church in North Adams, and asked Mr. Wright to hitch her horse to the surrey, so she could attend a meeting one-day. But the horse was in the pasture field and he wouldn't spend time to get it for her. She could drive, but knew nothing about the harness. "Can you get the horse and hitch up?" she asked. "I can hitch up if I can catch the horse." I replied. "Then try" she said. The horse was not too hard to catch. I got the halter on, and rode him to the barn, where I really met trouble. The harness was equipped with a leather fly net, of which I had never seen the like. It took some time and experimenting to decide which was front and rear, and up and down but at last we drive up to the carriage block with everything in order, and she drove thankfully away, with the fly-net's EAR TASSELS BOBBING GAILY, and only a little late. When Mr. Wright came in at night, all he said was "Who hitched up?" and Mrs. Wright smiled, "Bertha." That may have been the first and only time she bested him. He was fiery, while she was calm and mild.

 In the summer of 1895, Father hired a young stranger who was looking for a job, to help with the farm work. He was about seventeen, a little older than Howard, and we took him into the family circle. He had very good manners, attended church and Sunday School with us, and seemed to like us all. In haying, especially, Father and the boys worked early and late, and this boy wasn't very good help. After he got a little acquainted, he began going out evenings where there were parties with dancing and card-playing, which to us were cardinal sins, and the company he kept was pretty low-class. Of course his work suffered, as he was tired and sleepy every day. Father advised him to cut out the parties, and warned him that he would have to do better on the job. Pretty soon he quit, and got work a couple of miles away.

 Then one Sunday in October, during Sunday school a neighbor woman came hurriedly into the church, and talked to the superintendent. He called us to attention, said that the Wells house was on fire, and for the men to get there as soon as possible. In no time at all, Mr. Turner's double buggy, filled with the men and drawn by his dapple-grays, was going lickety-split down the road toward our home. Our big gray team, Jim and Charlie, followed close, our wagon filled with women and children; other rigs in the rear. Our neighbor said that as she and her husband drove home from church (not remaining for Sunday school) they saw smoke issuing from our cellar windows. He got out, and sent her right back to the church (two miles). He called until he roused the next neighbor, and then rushed into the house. The fire was on the floor in front of the Round Oak stove in the sitting room, with a second fire in front of the bedroom door. He grabbed a blanket shawl from a chair, to smother the flames and ran for water. There was a boiler full of water in the kitchen, enough to get the fire under control at once. By the time the other neighbor arrived there was only a little smoke.

 All the way home we'd kept saying, "I can't see any flames yet, so maybe it won't all burn up", but the shock came when we saw that it had been set afire. There was a trail of kerosene from the fire to the parlor, up the stairs, and into the bedroom. We never understood why the fires didn't follow these trails, for it had burned a large hole through the floor, which let the smoke into the cellar where Mother luckily had left a window open. Father had just sold some hay, and when he arrived looked to see if the money was safe. It was gone. Then each of us rushed to count our pennies. Each of our little savings was gone except Percy's. My pocket book was missing, Arthur's penny bank emptied, Grace's too; five or six dollars of Sunday school pennies, Herbert was Treasurer, all taken; as well as the hay money and a suit of Herbert's.

 Now it was, "Who did it?" The fires seemed to be made of clothing, so we surmised that the thief had burnt his own, and was wearing Herbert's. The boys poked among the embers, and found buttons and buckles they recognized. Yes, the hired boy's. The men had already searched all the buildings. Now some of them went home, and some volunteered to look for him where he had last worked. Brother Win finally reached Osseo. He went into an open store, and there buying a pair of shoes was the boy, wearing Herbert's suit. Win didn't know what to do. He shook hands with him as though the meeting were casual, and left to call the sheriff, who had previously been alerted. He arrived shortly, but the boy was gone, hurrying down the railroad track. A few minutes later he was in custody.

 Later we went to Hillsdale to identify our property, and he was sentenced to three years in Ionia Reformatory, on the charge of theft. He confessed the theft, but denied setting the fire. We are sure he was alone because he had all the money, even all those Sunday school pennies tied up in a handkerchief. I think we all felt a little sorry for him. It seems that he had been in the Boys Reform School in Lansing. Father knew it when he hired him, and had seen his discharge papers. Perhaps that is why he didn't like Father. But Father had never told us children.

 Two or three weeks previously Mother had stayed home from church because Susie wasn't feeling well. Someone rapped, and there was this boy. He told Mother he was coming across our fields, and had found one of the cows with her head caught in the lane fence. That he would take the pliers, and cut a wire to release her, which he did. Our brothers couldn't understand how a cow could have caught her head in that fence. After the fire they declared he must have entangled her there, and evidently had planned something wrong for that trip, but gave it up because someone was at home. We were so thankful that he did not harm Mother and Susie.

 Mary worked for her board at Mrs. James Barker's at least one year while attending high school. She had taught some before graduating in 1894. First school "the Grubbs" east of Jerome toward Somerset Center - Payne and John L. Buck, west of North Adams. She was Principal in North Adams for the classes of '97, '98, '99, with Burt Green and then Henry McDonald, Superintendent. Now that I was a senior, I studied hard and got good marks, my average for the year 99 plus. Mayte Collins was nearly as high. We voted for Mayte to be the Valedictorian. She was very good in elocution. I was chosen for the Salutatory. Mr. Green told Mary that my mark was the highest by a fraction, but I always thought that Mayte was a little better.

 Mary and I rented two rooms in the brick house North of the old high school. Once the James Barker home, then Ula Filio's now Ned Towns'. We brought furniture and food from home. I got the meals and did the housework. Mary paid the rent and $1.00 a month to me. Mother baked bread, pie, and cookies. We brought potatoes and other vegetables from home as well as butter and some milk and eggs. We had a one-burner oil stove for cooking, and our antique heating stove had a flat top, with two small doors in front that opened to a sort of oven right over the wood-fire box, which was fed from the end. We could heat water above, and cook below. One window in our room opened onto the flat roof of a porch, and sometimes on a warm summer evening we would sit outside to study. One night I sat there reading. Mary swung the window shut and locked me out just for fun. I didn't care, and kept right on with my book. After a while it began to get a little dark and chilly, I got up to open the window. Well, it didn't open. I called softly. Then I remembered that I had seen Mary leaving for an Epworth League meeting, so she would be gone nearly an hour longer. My chair was a small rocker with a long "tidy" on the back. I draped this around my shoulders and waited, rather than call anyone down stairs. Mary had intended to unlock the window before leaving, and then forgot all about it until she was nearly home, and then she came a-flying!

 Now as I sit and think about it, I realize that Mary and I never quarreled about anything. Once she did threaten to stop sewing for my dolly unless I quit swinging my foot. She said it made her fidgety". Of course she was five years older than I, but we did the dishes together, and other housework. She was also my bedfellow. We both loved books and music. She was never anything but kind to me, and how I loved her. I fear I wasn't like that with my younger sister, Susie. When she broke my favorite goblet I told Mother she did it purposely, which I think she did. I wanted her punished. But Mother probably imagined she had had some provocation, knowing me, and only said that she should handle the dishes more carefully. This goblet was wine-colored, rather than clear glass, and a present to me. I don't recall that Arthur got babied because he was the youngest, but I think Susie was babied more or less.

 Once we had a husking bee in the big back barn, with all the young men and ladies around home, and some from town. We served coffee, doughnuts, cheese and pumpkin pie. When the boys brought the corn shocks into the barn, they saw to it that there were a few red ears, which made it quite exciting. The whole group husked about as much corn as one man might have done in a day. But we had a grand time. Belle Locklin and I, with two of the boys, jumped out of the back door of the barn onto what we supposed was straw. It was chaff!

 During skating season, Shirley Randolph arranged a skating party for an evening, all in couples. I had no special boy friends. In fact, I didn't like boys in North Adams very well. Shirley sat down beside me that day, and said "If I didn't have a girl, would you go with me?' "That's a funny question" I replied. "Well, would you go with Fred?" "No." "Would you go with Judd?" "He's got a girl." "With Bill?" "No" "Is there anyone you might go with?" So I acknowledged that if Earl asked me to go, I would accept, because I really wanted to go skating. He asked, I accepted. He called for me at Mrs. Filio's front door. Later she asked me to have my callers go to the side door, as the stair door was just inside. I should have thought of that myself, Shirley sometimes came over after school, and we would sit on the porch and visit until Mary came. Then we three would visit awhile. He told me he did it to get to talk with Mary. She was a teacher, you know.

 Pliny Marsh was teaching in the Bross school now. His father was an auctioneer in Hillsdale. We rode our wheels to Hillsdale, to attend the county fair. I suppose we had to walk part of the way up Emery Hill, although once later I made it on my wheel. We went to his home first, where his mother had a nice luncheon prepared just for us; the rest was a typical Fair day, with us back home by suppertime.

 Laura Schoolcraft and I were great chums. One day in class Mr. Green sat with one foot slid out over the edge of the rostrum. The recitation seats were directly in front. Laura crossed her knees, and swung her foot nearer and nearer the sole of his shoe. She miscalculated, and gave it quite a tap. When he glanced at us quickly, I was almost bursting, trying to keep sober, while Laura was gazing off unconcernedly. Another time she ate a note while on her way to deliver it to him.

 After school one day I began spitting blood. I went over to see Dr. Ditmars who lived just south of the schoolhouse. He told me to eat a little salt and drink water. Said it wasn't so unusual for my age. How mistaken he was! But at least he didn't frighten me. I was sixteen. Mayte Collins and Laura were, too, while Belle Locklin was seventeen and the other girls about eighteen; boys also. This was the Class of 1897, graduating June 3rd.

 Commencement at last! Pretty gowns and speeches. Proud papas and mamas and teachers. Gifts of books and flowers. My Salutation delivered. My dress - pale blue cashmere, with ribbons and lace. I carried a dainty pale blue silk fan; but wore black stockings and black high-top shoes. These were not noticeable because of the long dress. Warren Cruger was there from Litchfield, and took me home, but went back immediately, although Father asked him to stay over night.

 The next week our Class picnicked at Bird's Lake near Osseo, with the Class of 1896. Shirley took me (I had been to political speeches with him during the spring), and Herbert took Lulu Brass. We had our pictures taken there. We stayed on the lake until a little after dark, singing "Good-night, Ladies" and "Landlord, fill the flowing bowl", with nary a bottle on board, and then got lost going home. We were driving west, but thought we were going north. After a time we were surprised not to overtake some of our group, as we had driven quite fast. I wanted to stop and ask directions, but Shirley was sure we were going the right way. Finally, the lights in the houses we passed began going out, and at last I persuaded Shirley to ask the way to North Adams. They said, "We can tell you the way to Hillsdale." Then I asked where we were. They told us that we were three miles east of Reading, and going west. We had to turn around, drive back nine miles to Hillsdale, and then eight miles on home. His livery-stable horse was about tired out by that time and he wanted to get back to North Adams before daylight, but it was then 4:00 A.M. Of course he couldn't make it, but he was leaving for Battle Creek the next day, and so didn't have to stand the teasing that I did, for he told the story before he left.

 Pliny Marsh started a debating society that met at the schoolhouse, and eventually interested even the parents. Once a mock trial was held. Father as foreman of the jury, Clarence Barron and Pliny were opposing lawyers; Lennie Galloway was the culprit. I do not recall the judge, but it was a good community effort. Pliny was interested in Mary, and when he wanted to walk home with her, knowing we had come to the debate together, he asked Dennis why he didn't take me home. What a debt I owe to Pliny! That evening Mary and I had each given our old Commencement speeches before the judges, and mine had won. The prize was a small cake of maple sugar. Dennis and I, upon arriving home, sat on the steps of the side porch until Mary and Pliny came, when we all shared the prize. Now Pliny is Judge Marsh of Detroit; Dennis and I are Mr. and Mrs. Duguid; and Mary left us almost thirty years ago, April 16, 1926.

 The summer and fall of 1897 I was at home helping Ted hay, driving horses on hay fork, picking berries, etc. Mamie and I made us shirtwaists from the same pattern. They were of pink and white calico. Cost fifteen cents each. Over the neckbands we wore high collars of ribbon or velvet. We planned to have coats alike, and we did have the same style and material, but she liked blue, and I chose brown.

 After the dishes were washed on Sunday afternoons we used to gather about the organ. I played Grace and Susie sang soprano, Mary alto, Father, Herbert and Percy tenor, Howard bass. Win and Will were away from home now, but both liked to sing, and this organ was Will's. Before that we had Grandma's melodeon to use for awhile. While I was still too young to attend, a Miss Miles had held singing school in the neighborhood, and my older brothers and sisters learned a lot there. Father learned to use a tuning fork, and could teach us new songs, using it, before we had the melodeon. Father and Grace sang solos in Miss Miles' concerts. I remember Father in "The Sexton", and Grace in "The Vale of Chamanee". Mother stayed at home with the little ones, but Aunt Emma told me that when my mother was twenty-three or four years old, teaching the Jackson school, she (Alice Gowdy) sang the solo parts in their singing school concerts. I never heard her sing except lullabies to the children and such hymns as "In the Sweet By and By" and "There Is a Happy Land."

 Herbert and Lulu Brass were married at her parent's home on Thanksgiving Day, November 24, 1897. I was bridesmaid, Lula Jackson Roberts, Matron of Honor, and Arthur Turner best man. A day or so later I entrained at Baker's, and went to Tipton (Sand Lake), where Will was to meet me. He was working on Cousin Barzillai Hurry's farm near Tecumseh, where their first child, Fern Louise, had just been born, November l4th. Cousin Adelle Hurry was keeping house for their three children attending the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, and Fallie needed my help with the housework. We attended church in Tecumseh. I had mittens for winter wear. My hands were so rough and chapped that Will thought I should keep them covered in church and Sunday school. So Fallie let me wear a pair of her gloves. I hadn't thought of that for years.

 Miss Jennie Gallatin taught a class of girls. She was a wonderful woman and teacher. One of the girls in that class, Lavie Snedecor, became my good friend, and still is. She was nineteen years old and already teaching school. A few months later I visited in her home. Her parents were Baptists; her father sexton of their church. Her father was very studious, and interesting to talk with, but rather withdrawn from the family life, preferring to eat his meals alone in his room. They were surprised and pleased that he served at the head of the table while I was present. Mrs. Snedecor was motherly and kind; Elmer, about fourteen, with high aspirations and ability; hustling Mary with her long curls; busy Glen with his big round eyes; and Ellen, still using the baby-buggy.

 Herbert and Lulu were at Will's a day or two during their honeymoon. I was quite bored with all the "billing and cooing." The new baby got her share also. Though fond of them all, including Cousin Barzillai Hurry, the work was quite hard, and I was glad to be home again by Christmas.

 Having passed my seventeenth birthday, I taught my first term of school in Hoxie, in the Spring of 1898, salary $16.00 a month; was rehired for the next year at a salary of $18.00 a month for the Fall and Spring, and $20.00 for the Winter. I paid $1.50 a week for board, going home weekends. I did all the janitor work including building fires. Boarding places - homes of Mr. and Mrs. Everett Fish; Mrs. Fry, widow with one son, first house east of Hoxie; and Win and Minnie's. The oldest pupils were Eugene Cronk, Montie Birdsall, Ada Price, Lily Lee, Lily Holtenhouse, Pansy Camburn, Mamie Phillips; youngest, Roy Bemis and Cleve Crater. I liked Frank Birdsall. He walked home from church with me twice, and took me to a neighborhood party, but he liked Mary better. She went to a picnic with him, but thought him too young for her old age of twenty-five.

 Father came over to Hoxie one cold winter afternoon to take me home for the weekend, driving gray Charlie and another horse. "Where's Jim" I said, and he told me that he was dead and buried. He died of colic. I cried, and I am not sure but Father had already done so. May Chapman, Mrs. Irish's granddaughter, lived in Hoxie, and her father was the postmaster, and had a small general store. We had many good times together. Once we were going somewhere in her cutter when the roads were very drifted. The horse was scarcely moving - the cutter tipped more and more - and we slowly tipped over. Of course we were unhurt, so righted the cutter, and went merrily on our way.

 Grandpa Wells died on his 80th birthday, March 18, 1896. His funeral was in the West Wheatland Church. One of the hymns sung was "How Blest the Righteous When He Dies." We went in sleighs to the Cemetery in North Adams where he was buried. Grandma Wells and Aunt Hattie Wells having moved to Aunt Lucy Beecher's house in North Adams, Father was working the fields on their farm this Spring of 1899. So Howard and I "camped out" there, Howard farming, and I teaching in Hoxie and getting the meals. Our furnishings were straw-filled bedticks on the floor, a table and two chairs, a few dishes, and an old cook-stove, with Mother providing the baked stuff.

 Dennis, when a senior in High School, took me to the Junior Reception at Ula' Filio's; also the Alumni Reception at the Opera House. I had a new sailor hat of rough creamed-colored straw, with a lot of filmy blue tulle heaped around (not over) the crown, and practically covering the brim. I thought the blue accentuated my blue eyes, but I daresay Dennis didn't notice either. The hat was really quite nice; price, $1.50 That was twenty-five cents more than my old hat cost, which was also a sailor of fine straw, with a pale blue velvet band.

 I now had a second grade certificate. The fall of 1899 and winter of 1900 I spent teaching in Mud Lake district, where Aunt Phoebe and my father had once taught. The Secretary of the Board told me I was the third generation to teach in this school. Here the big boy was Lee Simonds, the girls Grace Sabin and Edith Caskey; my youngest, Earnest Rogers. Others were Blanche Simonds, Florence Driscoll, May Sabin, Susie Morehouse, Gladys McBain, Blanch Rogers, Wilbur Blackmer, Laurel Lewis, etc. There were several young ladies in the neighborhood; Minnie Gregory, Susie Wilson, Belle Whitney, Grace and Matie Wyman, Linnie Lewis, Gertrude Older and Alice Gray.

 Howard, Percy and Susie were attending school in North Adams. So were Bertha and Iva Lamb, who walked to our house and rode with our young folks in the double buggy. I rode with them part way to Mud Lake, and walked the last mile. When winter came I boarded with Mrs. Israel Post instead of riding my wheel, which I had earned by selling tea and spices during the summer of 1897 or 1898. Mrs. Post was a dear old lady, and her cooking was excellent. Especially delectable was her creamed cabbage; chopped real fine, boiled a little and creamed. Delicious! The snow was very deep that winter. One morning her son came over from next door with his shovel, waded ahead of me to the schoolhouse, and shoveled the snow from the porch. It was piled higher than the keyhole. I did not have a pupil for a day and a half. By that time the parents were able to bring in a few.

 Uncle Albert Gowdy of Walkerville, Michigan was urging me to teach in their school, the Spring Term of 1900. As Mud Lake was hiring only by the term, I refused to sign the spring contract, and went up to Uncle Albert's. It was necessary to take an examination in Hart, which I did, and luckily passed. The school was the Gowdy school; the director, John Giddings, a brother of Aunt Achsah, also from Hillsdale County.

 I had some trouble in this school. A brother and sister, ages ten and eleven, behaved well only while I gazed at them (but their older sister was a perfect lady): another girl about twelve was sneaky and mean, and hateful to her playmates. One day she grabbed an umbrella from another girl, and ran away home with it, in the rain. The other girl was going my way so I sheltered her with my umbrella. Her punishment was staying in her seat until the others were on their way home. Her mother called on the lady who lived across the road from the schoolhouse, breathing fire and brimstone, and vowing vengeance upon me (so I heard later), and then called at the schoolhouse. When she told me her name, I really was pleased that she had come, and placed a chair for here where she could see and hear the class reciting in geography. Her daughter was reciting, and I helped her to make a good recitation. In no time at all her mother was my good friend, and she changed too. Nothing was ever said about the girl's misbehavior. Arthur Giddings, Etta Van Brocklin, and Nellie Kalman were the oldest pupils, Jessie Giddings the youngest.

 I boarded with Aunt Sarah Swift, Mother's only sister. She, with Uncle Oscar, Martin and Clark, lived on the next hill beyond Uncle Albert's. The house was new, but never finished inside, and later burned down. Across the road were many evergreens, bordering a small lake. The hill was so sandy that planks had been put in to help one get up; through the swamps were log roads, and planks. But how crisp and fresh the air on a Spring morning! There is no scent finer than that of evergreens, and pine chips wet with dew or rain.

 Uncle Albert Gowdy's Sallie had been married to Thomas Routley, and divorced. She and her three-year-old Lawrence lived with her parents. Her brother Stephen had married Etta Houk, and lived across the roads. Nearly every Saturday and Sunday I spent with Sallie. We used to sing all the time we were churning with the old dasher churn. We went in the wagon to Walkerville after groceries, with Martin and Clark, and ate peanuts all the way home. Sundays we went to Sunday school held in the Colfax schoolhouse, north and west of Uncle Albert's. There I met most of the Draggoo sisters; Maud, nearest my age, and Sam, their only brother.

 Indians called each year selling baskets they had woven. While I was there one came. She said to Aunt Achsah Giddings, "This your papoose?" referring to me. Uncle Albert said that if Mother would come to visit them, he would pay her fare home. So I sent her money for the trip, and paid half. She came about a week before school closed, when we left for home. Aunt Sarah died about a year later.

 All the district schools seemed to be supplied with teachers for Fall when we returned, and I was unable to get a position until the Winter term. Brother Will wanted my help in pulling beans, and his wife Fallie needed some help in the house. They were living east of her father's home, in the old Nutten house. It was large, and had a cupola with windows on all sides, reached by a stairway from upstairs. It was high and roomy, with a window seat all around, and I thought it was grand.

 My third school in Hillsdale County was a mile or two east of Church's Corners. I boarded at Elva Bailey's. It had once been my job to drive taking Grace and Mary to their respective schools; now Father usually took me. One cold morning with very deep snow, our team hitched to the sleigh had to break a track the whole six miles to school. Mr. Bailey had unlocked the schoolhouse and built the fire, but I did not arrive until nine-thirty, much to my shame. At this school I had to burn mostly green wood, and had a lot of trouble with creosote dripping from the long stovepipe, and the stove smoking. I asked the director to have the pipe and chimney cleaned; and again I warned him that it was impossible to study with eyes smarting and running from smoke. The third time, we sent word about 10:30 A.M., that school was closed until we could use the stove again; that the children had been excused for the rest of the day. When we arrived the next morning we found that the men had done a good job the afternoon before and also they provided dry wood for burning at night when the dampers were partly closed to hold the fire. But I was not hired for the Spring term. They said they had decided to hire a man.

 If this had been a rough school with big boys, this would have seemed reasonable, but every pupil was orderly and cooperative. I liked them and I think they liked me. The parents, too, treated me very well. The Elva Bailey's, where I boarded, took good care of me and fed me well. Mr. Bailey and I once ate a race through ice cream. He won by eating four heaping tea-saucers full. I stopped with three; George Bailey was my youngest pupil - Arthur Spencer the oldest.

 This winter saw the end of the 19th Century. The Bailey family retired at the usual time on New Year's Eve, after fixing the fire for the night. My room opened from the living-room which was getting rather cool by 11:00 P.M., so I got into bed to keep warm, intending to lie awake to watch the Century end and the new Century begin. In the country there were no guns booming nor bells ringing at midnight. When I awoke it was 1:00 A.M.

 The last day of the term we gave a program of music, recitations and dialogues, with the parents invited. Several mothers were present, and as brother Howard was to take me and my belongings home, he came early to hear the program. I recall that this created a pleasant stir in the audience, and seemed to add zest to the program. I did not teach that spring, but signed a contract to teach in the Hill school all the next year of 1901 - 2. This school was only two and one-half miles from home, and in good weather I rode my bicycle.

 Grace and Arthur Westcott had sugar maples on their farm, and made s lot of maple syrup in the spring, so it was always a busy time. That year when Arthur tapped the sugar bush, I hung the pails and helped as much as I could. Most of the Spring I was at home sewing, after the housework was done. We made all of our dresses, and under garments also. Mother made shirts and overalls for Father and the boys, and some of their better trousers, and all the towels, sheets and pillowcases. That is where I learned to make buttonholes, sew over and over, hem, etc. Mother was a very good seamstress and fast at her work. We girls had to rip out our work and do it better when it didn't pass inspection.

 When cold weather came, I boarded at the Lorenzo Mosher home. On snowy mornings Mr. Mosher often took me to school with his high-stepping horse and cutter. He was very kind. Mrs. Mosher loved to sing, and Pearle played both organ and violin so, many times Pearl played and we all sang for our own pleasure. All of us could sing soprano and alto. Later years found me singing alto only.

 Mrs. Mosher made a cake with bread dough, which was moist and very good, for my lunch. I liked her homemade bread so well that usually I took three sandwiches in the dinner pail, and nothing else. Mr. Mosher got a clot of blood at the base of his brain, and began having seizures. Because of lying unconscious upon the floor uncovered in a cold room, pneumonia developed. He was semi-conscious for two or three days, and then died, February 13, 1902. None of us could milk very well, but there were six cows to milk. I took the two easiest milkers, and Mrs. Mosher did the rest, while Pearle did the cooking. As soon as possible, five of the cows were sold. Mrs. Mosher had a sister in Jackson, Mrs. Frances Manee, who did oil painting. She gave me one of her paintings; Alice has it now.

 I enjoyed this school fairly well. The girls were lovely and the boys not bad. There were only minor irritations. Blanch Crisp, Marie Hogan, Louie Bump, Hattie Havens, Sopha Britton, big girls; Earl Williams, Alfred Van Duzer and Devillo, Leo Hogan, Robert and Richard Leonard, the older boys; also Ralph Crisp, Willie Parrish, Dawson Henvey, Harry Eldridge, Lynn Williams, Clarence Wheaton, Nina Johnson and Mary Britton. We had a group picture taken on the front porch just after some of us had recovered from the mumps. Percy taught for me three days, I think.

 But I decided that I didn't like teaching well enough to keep on. Mary had saved her money and gone to Hillsdale College, but I did not have enough money for that. One summer I had tried assembling the parts of artificial roses to earn a little more. Having to sell them also, I didn't make a dime. A business school in Huntington, Indiana had sent me letters advertising their system of teaching Shorthand - the Putnam-Graham - and I sent for a copy of the Manual. That summer of 1902 several North Adams girls got jobs as waitresses at the summer resort of Wequetonsing, just around the Bay from Bay View and Petoskey; Grace and Clara Corbett, Naomi Gamble, Mamie Duguid and I, and later in the summer, sister Susie. The forty girls there were teachers, seamstresses, college students and a couple of high school pupils.

 Our rooms were over the kitchen, two double beds in a room. The partitions were about six feet high, not reaching the ceiling so it was possible to communicate quite freely, but we did not abuse the privilege. Most of my spare time was spent studying shorthand, while sitting on a side porch over-looking Little Traverse Bay. Occasionally, some of the girls took care of children for an hour or so. My roommate, Pauline Hazelton, was a senior in Alma College, and tutored in Greek, a boy in Harbor Springs.

 This waiting on tables was not too easy, especially when the cooks were short-tempered and the days hot. Our pay was small also, $3.50 a week, and half our railroad fare. I was there three months, and with about $9.00 in tips, earned $54.00. Each one of us was given time off so we could take the boat trip to Mackinac Island some time during the summer. On my trip the Strait was very rough, but I enjoyed it, and thought the Port, Arch Rock, Lover's Leap, Sugar Loaf Mountain, Devil's Kitchen, etc. were wonderful.

 Susie and I had arranged for Uncle Albert to meet us at Bitely on our trip home, as our tickets gave us stopover privileges. As the train halted at Baldwin, I saw my valise put on a baggage truck. I rushed out to the platform and yelled, "That valise goes to Bitely - not Baldwin." "Everything for Bitely we put off here for the local to pick up. This train doesn't stop at Bitely." "Well, it's going to today." I sputtered. Then I talked with the conductor. I told him my uncle was driving his buggy fifteen miles over poor roads to meet that train, and if I weren't there he might go back, or he might wait and wait.

 "My ticket showed the stopover, why did they let me board that train?" He said they were behind time and he couldn't promise that they would stop, but if we would be ready at the steps, so they would barely need to stop, perhaps they might. And they did. Uncle Albert drove up a minute later, and my heartbeat got back to normal.

 Aunt Sarah Swift had died the summer before, and Clark and Sallie were married. We saw some of my old pupils, and Arthur Giddings, Nellie Kalman and Sam Draggoo came calling. Clark and Sallie took us back to the train. We ate fried chicken from our lunch-basket on the way to the depot.

 Pliny Marsh was getting students for Detroit Business University, and when he found that I contemplated taking a business course, he suggested D.B.U., instead of Huntington, Indiana. He was working his way through law school in Detroit. As I knew no one in Huntington, and the shorthand system taught in D.B.U. was practically the same as the one I was studying, it was not hard to persuade me to go to Detroit instead.

 Brother Will's Wendell was sick all the fall with a bloating of the abdomen. They took him to Ann Arbor Hospital, but they were unable to help him. He was three years old, and the last time I saw him he was wearing a little red suit that Fallie had made him. He was very fair, the color becoming, and he looked very sweet. The news of his death on November 30th came to me after I had gone to Detroit about November 3, 1902.

 Pliny had agreed to meet my train, take me to the D.B.U. to enroll, and help me to get located. I arrived, and sat and waited in the Grand Trunk Railway depot perhaps thirty minutes, when in rushed Pliny, all out of breath. He had been delayed, and feared that I would be gone, I don't know where. As I had never been in Detroit, I was as ignorant of locations as it was possible to be. With him as guide, I enrolled at the D.B.U. They recommended me to the Y.W.C.A. in the same building on John R Street, between Woodward and Farmer, where I was engaged to wait on table from 11:30 to 12:45 P.M., for $1.50 a week, and my dinners, except on Sundays. Pliny took me to his boarding house for supper, and I had my trunk brought to a Catholic Home for Girls, where I stayed for a few days until I found a good front room for $1.50 a week, in a private home at 36 West Columbia Street.

 In 1902 Detroit used gaslights in most homes. The lady, who showed me to a room, lighted the gas for me and left me. When I retired, I blew out the gas, after turning it down a little as one would with a kerosene lamp, as perhaps YOU do not know. But that didn't seem quite right, somehow. I lighted a match and held it to the gas jet. It burned a little, without turning it on any more. So then I got the idea; the gas must be turned entirely off. I thought there should have been a placard with instruction for people who know nothing about gaslights. I might have been listed as a suicide!

 The first night I stayed at Columbus Street address I was awakened by what sounded like a shot across the street. I went to the window, and saw lights coming on across, and a little West. Soon an ambulance arrived, and someone was carried out of the house on a stretcher. The papers reported that a man came home drunk, and when his wife berated him, he said, "I'll shoot myself." And proceeded to do so, but not fatally. This was a house where I had looked at a room the previous afternoon, but thought it too small. How thankful I was, not to be over there.

 Mr. Drake was President, and Mr. Spencer Secretary, of the D.B.U. They were both fine men. Tuition for the Shorthand, Spelling and Typing course was $60.00 for six months, with a reduction to $54.00 for cash, which I paid. In the Junior department we worked individually, going from one lesson to the next as fast as we could pass the test. Helped by my study of shorthand in the book from Huntington, I was able to complete the work of this department in five weeks instead of the usual twelve. Then began dictation, and later, office procedure. This was harder for me, especially typing, as my physical reflexes are slow. The keys on the Densmore typewriter I used were not lettered. We had a lady teacher whom I adored; her name, Miss McAllister.

 I cooked my meals on my landlady's stove. It was usually oatmeal for breakfast, mush and milk for supper, while I was getting a good dinner at the YWCA where I worked. Later when I had finished school, I ate lunch at the Delmont restaurant on Gratiot near Woodward.

 Of course I wanted to set foot on Canadian soil, so Pliny and I took a ferryboat to Windsor one Saturday afternoon, and walked about town a little. On the boat we had been eating bananas, and had to tell what was in the paper bag, when we passed the customs officer. When ill with a cold, Pliny brought me a bright blue cineraria, and called occasionally, until I was fully acclimated. He was a Baptist, and after he became interested in a Miss Belle Morehouse in his church, later his wife, I seldom saw him, but have never forgotten his many acts of kindness.

 For $15.00 I bought a violin, with twelve free lessons given in a studio on Clifford Street, just off Woodward. My teacher, Mr. Mueller, was patient, and I practiced faithfully, but I never could hold the violin easily, nor play well. When he played his violin with me, it sounded very well, but when I played alone it was altogether different. This practice was done when I lived alone.

 One day in the spring the school had a call from Alma Sanitarium, asking for a stenographer who could play simple marches and hymns. Most of the students wanted to stay in Detroit, but I was willing to go. My teacher thought I could handle the job, although I lacked six weeks of the six months of instruction, but told them I was unable to pay for the gymnasium exercises. So I bought a new spring hat, and left for Alma.

 My salary was $8.00 a week, with room and board at the Sanitarium. The two secretaries of the doctors were Anna Watts, and Josie Starkweather. We had a large room together on the second floor, and were quite congenial. My boss, Mr. Mills, was the manager of the Sanitarium. Every morning he planned the meals for the day. I had to cut a stencil for each meal, and roll off the menu cards on a sort of slate duplicator. This was new work for me, but not difficult, and I took pride in making the menus neater looking. I played the hymns for the chapel service held each morning in the parlors. Then I passed out mail at the desk in the lobby, sold cigars, rented pool balls, etc., and helped the bookkeeper, Mrs. White, with any job she gave me. Rev. Wooten, whose wife was Rhetta Kempton of North Adams, was pastor of the M. E. church, which I attended.

 Alma Sanitarium was famous for its mineral springs, Almanian and Almarian. One was drinking water, and the other for bathing. Pauline Hazelton, my roommate at Wequetonsing, was a senior at Alma College, and I met her each morning when she came to drink of the mineral spring. Once she got permission for me to stay over night with her in the girl's dormitory.

 But I was getting no dictation except for an occasional letter. One day a Mr. Fischer from Detroit, who was resting up in the Sanitarium for a few days, asked me if that was my writing in a ledger in which I was doing some posting. Then he asked how I liked my work there. I told him I was thinking of leaving because I was not using the shorthand knowledge I had acquired, and realized it would soon be forgotten unless used; and I could go back to school for six weeks more. He said if I would do that, he'd like me in his office in Detroit, and would call me at the D.B.U. when ready.

 So after being in Alma five or six weeks I left my new friends with regret, made a short visit at home, and then returned to Detroit. Here I found that a Miss Nellie Eastman, from Rochester, Michigan, had my old room at Mrs. Dearin's. She was a dressmaker about thirty years old. She sewed for ladies in their homes, and got her meals out. She was my first roommate.

 After three weeks Mr. Fischer called the D.B.U. and I then began as a stenographer in the employ of Gage and Fischer, General Agents of the Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance Company, of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, sixth floor Hammond Building. I sat in William Skinner's outer office, but took dictation mostly from Miss Mary Smith, the Company's cashier, and turned out monthly form letters on a duplicating machine. Carl Loud was office boy, and ran my typed letters through a letterpress. Miss Helen Emery was engaged for Mr. Skinner's work, and Wm. C. Mage became my boss. I also did work occasionally for Wm. Robinson, Billy Gage, Samuel Heavenrich, and William H. Bloomer. Bonnie Doone Lowe worked for Wm. Wrightt; Helen Todd for Dr. Balch; Ernest Patterson and Warren Flynn for Gage and Fischer; Bessie Baxter was bookkeeper; Irving Keiser and Charlie Munro were young city agents who also helped in the main office. Cassius Hudson from Jackson, was the switchboard operator.

 We girls formed a club, with weekly meetings in our rooms, reading aloud plays from Shakespeare; serving perhaps coffee and doughnuts, or pop-corn, or toasting marshmallows. Miss Baxter's roommate, Betty Brown, also attended; sometimes Harriet Capes, Charlie's friend, later his wife. We all enjoyed this very much. In summer we did not work Saturday afternoons. Twice, I think, we girls put up a lunch, and invited the boys to go for a picnic on Belle Isle, and canoeing on the canals. We were a congenial group, jolly but dignified; no one was loud, or rough in speech or manner.

 One day in June Mr. Gage held a picnic at his summer home on Grosse Isle. He was a widower, but a neighbor lady acted as hostess. For lunch we filled our plates from a large platter of sliced baked fish, and buns and relishes. For dessert, we were taken back a lane and turned into the strawberry patch, where we ate our fill. There were pictures taken, and late in the afternoon we boarded a streetcar for the return trip to Detroit after a memorable day.

 One day the office cashed a money order Mary had sent me in payment of a loan. Mr. Fischer asked if I had to send for money. I replied "No," but the next week my salary check was for $8.00 instead of $6.00. While attending D.B.U. I once got down to a 2-cent stamp, but never borrowed nor went broke. Mother wrote faithfully once a week, and usually Dennis Duguid did also. The postman used to bring the mail into the office, and say, "Here's the letter from your Mother. What's s the matter with the boy friend?" Usually both letters came on Tuesdays. Dennis came to Detroit once or twice a year. I had a week's vacation every summer, and a few days at Christmas time. I got very homesick the second winter, and actually sick from it. I believe it lasted about three weeks; then I began recovering and never felt so again.

 Nellie Eastman fell and broke her wrist, and went home to Rochester for a few weeks. Mary visited me once at Mrs. Dearin's. I saw Pearle Mosher and May Chapman on an excursion from Hillsdale; Clyde Van Patton and Burr Wisner were callers when visiting Detroit; Sam Draggoo came once to the State Fair. Mary Wright Johnson and husband Pearl entertained me in their home, as did Mr. and Mrs. Erskine whom I remember very well, but do not recall how I met them. Mrs. Wm. Robinson , wife of one of my bosses, was President of a Missionary Society, and I did some typing for her. She invited me to dinner one evening. They had two small boys about seven and five years of age. The dinner was in a stately dining room, but they were cordial and friendly, and the dinner so good, (scalloped oysters the one item I recall), that I overcame my bashfulness.

 I heard Bryan lecture in the Light Guard Armory; King Edward's Gernadier Band play; and concerts for which Mr. William Mage gave me tickets. Usually Miss Janie Berkley, a friend from the Y.W.C.A. accompanied me. I visited the church where Harold Jarvis sang, and his "The Holy City" almost carried me to Heaven. We heard the brilliant organist, Dr. York; and Dr. Elliot preach. His sermons were wonderful, his choice of language superb, but his handshake left me cold. But I joined Central Methodist Church.

 When Nellie Eastman came back to Detroit we got a room together on High Street where she planned to do some sewing in our larger room, which was on the first floor, and had a folding bed with full-length mirror. This was the first house west on Woodward, on the south side of High Street, and owned by the Runstedlers. We get our breakfasts and suppers together in a back room off their kitchen. We had been there about a month when Miss Eastman needed to press a seam in some garment she was finishing at night, and plugged in her gas flatiron in one of the chandelier lights. She said to me , "I must ask Mrs. Runstedler what it will cost if I plug in occasionally for five or ten minutes." She had hardly got the words out when Mrs. Runstedler came in to see if we were warm enough with a small fire in the fireplace. The next day she plugged the extra gas outlet with soap, and wouldn't believe that Miss Eastman had never used it before, and intended to pay extra for it. She said that Miss Eastman must go, but I could stay.

 But I went too, as Miss Eastman was a fine woman. We found another room a little farther down the street, with a Miss Susie Perkins. This room was small, upstairs, and had only one window; but we could cook in her kitchen. Then Miss Eastman was called home again. I did not hear from her but paid our rent one week longer to hold the room. Not being able to pay rent for the two of us, I gave up the room, and went into a larger back room with a Miss Lucy Nash, a milliner from Adrian, Michigan.

 Lucy was younger than I, and trimmed hats for wholesale millinery. A week or two later Miss Eastman came back, and there was no room waiting for her. We thought she could sleep with us for one night, and hunt a room the next day, but Miss Susie would not allow it. It was already dark, and I was in tears, but Miss Eastman herself comforted Lucy and me and assured us that she'd get a room at the Y.W.C.A. Later Lucy and I got a better room at 150 High Street, with Mrs. Polascio and little six-year old daughter. The child didn't seem to have regular meals, and hung around us so hungrily that we often gave her part of our supper. She died of a fever about a year later. Poor Mrs. Polascio! When the millinery season was over, Lucy went home, and I went back to Mrs. Dearin's Lucy and her sister Minnie Nash both came back to Mrs. Polascio's the next season. I loved my Sunday school teacher, Mr. Seelye. There was a Kitty Wells in the class. My dresses swept the ground unless held up a little. My shoes were buttoned high-tops. Lucy Nash had made me a pretty dark blue straw hat, and trimmed it with while lilacs, and when sister Grace came to visit me, made her a winter hat, brown with pretty brown velvet flower - very be coming.

 Cousin Nellie McConnell wrote from Hillsdale that she was about to come to Detroit, and we arranged that she would room with me at Mrs. Dearin's. Her work was in an Overalls Factory. She cooked breakfast and left for work. Then I ate, washed dishes, made bed, etc. On my way from the office at night, I shopped for our supper food at John Blessing's grocery, and started supper. We cooked on a gas plate in a small room over the front entrance, just a step from our room. We ate together, and each paid half the bill at the end of the week. We got along very well. Nellie was livelier than I, but we enjoyed being, together. When Mrs. Dearin asked her age, she replied "Bertha is 22, and I am 22 - 2." Mrs. Dearin, of course, thought she was 22, too, instead of 22 - 2.

 Once Mrs. Dearin lighted the small kerosene stove in my room, before I get home at night, so it would be warm when I came in, and left it turned up too high. When I arrived the room was blue with smoke, and everything in the room sooty. Luckily, the closet door was shut, but the room was filthy. She asked me not to tell her son Charles, because he might think her too old to be trusted to keep house for him. He was an old bachelor. Nellie heard a rustling in our potato sack, and found a rat in it. She held the sack tight shut, and ran downstairs and let it out in the alley, she was as frightened as the rat. We never saw another, and cannot imagine how it go upstairs into our kitchen.

 One Thanksgiving Day and weekend I spent in Tecumseh with Lavie Snedecor and family. Elmer took me to the High School football came. I wore my new dark blue felt hat, and a blue suit of the same color. I liked Elmer a lot. He was Lavie's young brother, and wrote me long interesting letters. He had lofty ideals, but his life was cut short by tuberculosis in his early twenties, and his wife and little daughter were left alone.

 Aunt Hattie Wells, and Aunt Emma (Nellie's mother), had moved to Detroit now and ran a little store on Sixth Street, so Nellie moved in with them. Aunt Emma had a News Agency, and employed several newsboys. I was about to have my summer vacation, and arranged that Elmer Snedecor and his Pastor could use my room while they were attending a Young People's Convention in Detroit, and Lavie spent the week with me in North Adams. Lavie (Vie) did not like Salmon, but it was served at every home where we ate, while visiting my brothers and sister. Lavie tried to eat a little of it, and says that ever since she does eat it some. Then Elmer wrote that Mrs. Dearin was taken ill that first night of their stay. She died before morning, and was to be buried beside her husband who had died in Lansing years before. He had been librarian in the Capitol Building for years. That was a sad ending to our vacation. Mrs. Dearin was a tiny sweet old lady, and I loved her dearly.

 Soon after Mrs. Dearin died, Miss Thompson, who owned the house at 36 West Columbia Street, married. I had to find another home. Pearle Mosher's friend Doris Spotts, came to Detroit to find a typing job. We found a large front room on second floor on Park near Sibley Avenue. It had a folding bed, and an oil stove for cooking; in a niche in the hall opposite our door. This was $5.00 a week for two people. Helen Jefferson Bryant was the landlady. She had a daughter Isla in grade school; daughter Rose, a bit older than I, and son Gifford Wiggs, about 30. This was my home as long as I stayed in Detroit, and with young people in the house I was not so lonesome.

 Doris Spotts got a job without difficulty, but complained that her boss was always interrupting her work, telling her to answer the phone. In less than a month, her boy friend came from Hillsdale add persuaded her to go back with him and marry him. Mrs. Bryant let me have the room alone for $3.00. Rose Bryant clerked in Hudson's Book Department, and Gifford in a Photo or Art Gallery. I liked them very much; Isla expected me to be perfect and I had to watch my step.

 In the spring of 1905 Mr. W. J. Fischer left the firm of Gage and Fischer, and became General Agent of the Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance Company, in St. Louis, Missouri. Mr. Mage, Mr. Bloomer, and Warren Flynn went with him then, or soon after, and my heart was broken. Mr. Mage gave me "The Master's Violin" and words of appreciation, and later Mr. Bloomer offered me a job there, but warned me of the extreme heat in St. Louis in summer. I sent him a telegram saying I'd decided to stay in Detroit, and then walked out of the office and went to my room, where I grieved the grief out of my system. No one ever remarked about by absence from work.

 O. J. Wright was my boss now, very kind and considerate. But I was upset and confused and quite unhappy. In the fall a friend from Walkerville, Michigan came to the State Fair and called on me. He asked me to write to him once a week or oftener, but I had to refuse. Mother made me a visit, and there were so many things to show here that I nearly walked her to death; Palmer Park, Belle Isle, Waterworks Park, Majestic Building, Hudson's, Newcomb-Endicott's, William Elliott Company, Frank and Seder's, Central Methodist Church, Harold Jarvis, Dr. Elliot, my employers and fellow office employees in the Hammond building. On Susie's 21st birthday on August 5^th I sent her a gold-plated Elgin watch, with pin, to be worn on the blouse.

 In October, Dennis and I began planning our marriage, for Christmas Day. There was a furniture sale in Jackson (1/4 discount) so we met there one Saturday and shopped for household goods. We still have the bill of sale. The clerk called me "Mrs. Duguid", without being corrected. We were both too bashful. The store was to deliver the goods when we notified them, during the first week of January, which they did.

 During November I stayed with Helen Todd, as her sister and family were away. She had a kitchen shower for me, inviting the girls and boys from the office and Rose and Isla Bryant. Besides all the small do-dads for kitchen use, they gave me a lovely cut glass water bottle. After helping to break in a new girl for my job with O. J. I left Detroit for home in time for Thanksgiving.

 Mother and I shopped in Hillsdale, bought a set of dishes, ordered wedding announcements, etc., and quilted three quilts before Christmas. I had already bought lace curtains, tablecloths, bed linen, towels, etc. in Detroit. My wedding dress was of pale green peau de sole, a sort of silky tulle; Miss Tepfer, dressmaker. It had a full skirt, shirred at the top worn over a pale green cotton skirt, flounced. The blouse was lined with pale green cotton. It had a white satin yoke covered with white lace. The sleeves from the elbows down were white lace over satin, and the tops were puffed and shirred just above the elbows. The stiff white satin lace covered collar had ruching, as did the sleeves. The blouse was shirred and boned, 26 inches waist measure. Dennis wore a black suit, and a white vest with a little black fleck.

 Rev. Elbert G. Mather read the wedding ceremony. Myrta Duguid and Mary A. Wells were witnesses. We were married in my home at noon; then sat down to a dinner of oyster stew, mashed potatoes, veal loaf, some vegetables, jelly, pickles, etc., cake and ice-cream. Present were both our families, Aunt Sue and Aunt Hattie.

 Dennis had a week's vacation from his school in Napoleon. We spent our honeymoon visiting our relatives, and attending the Duguid reunion at his Uncle Will's near Ray, Indiana. Mayme and Ben, Dennis and I went on the train and stayed over night with the Judson's. Aunt Catherine invited some of the young cousins over for an evening party. At the reunion I met all the uncles, aunts, and cousins of the Duguid Clan, and the Wells' couldn't outnumber them. They collected some money for a gift for the bride and groom. It paid for a good solid iron bedstead, painted gilt and green. We liked it then, and we like it today. It is in use still.

 I had never been in Napoleon. The day we arrived there it is raining, and it is January. We tramp 1/4 mile down a boardwalk to Dennis' boarding place. How dreary everything appears. The house next door is painted a sickly yellow - a color I loathe. Dennis points it out proudly, and says it is to be our first home; he has paid a month's rent. We spend a day or two cleaning the house, for creosote has run down in the kitchen doorway.

 Then our furniture arrives. There is carpeting for living-room and bedroom; linoleum for hall and kitchen; a baseburner for heating, and a coal range for cooking, and two zinc squares; a sanitary couch with space for linen or clothing; a small library table; a large rocker and a small one; dining room table and six chairs; a kitchen cabinet' two iron bedsteads, two mattresses and springs, one pair pillows; a dresser and commode; two kitchen chairs. We return a writing desk, for it is not the one we ordered. We have a double bookcase with glass doors, bought in Detroit.

 Our wedding presents supply silverware, salad bowls, bread and butter plates, linen napkins, teapot, clock (still running) six tumblers, one pair pillows, one quilt, one chamber set, one rococo mirror, kitchen shower gadgets, cut glass water bottle, and jelly dish. The main thing lacking is a rolling pin. Mother lends me a small flatiron, until we can buy some with wooden detachable handle. We have been given a few quarts of canned fruit, by the relatives. We buy hard coal and wood, a bushel of potatoes, apples, peck of onions, cabbages, etc. 25 pounds of flour, 25 pounds sugar, baking powder, soda, vinegar, tubs, washboard, boiler, soap, pancake griddle, and other articles as we need them. We arrange for butter, eggs, and milk. Dennis buys some canned fruit and a rolling pin at an auction. Broom, mop-stick, and pails. Sort of fun getting started, but it does take a few dollars. Dennis' salary is $500.00 for ten months, but I have enough left to buy a sewing machine.

 We joined the Methodist Church in Napoleon by letter, and subscribed for the Methodist Christian Advocate for 1906. I sing alto in the choir, and join the Ladies Aid Society. Dennis arranges a Lecture Course. No one offers to entertain the cello player, who is a Negro. So we entertain him in our home, and are glad to have him there.

 In June we took a honeymoon trip to Niagara Falls, on a boat from Detroit to Buffalo; then an interurban car to the Falls. It was so hot that I spent a lot of time in the bathtub in the private house where we stayed, while Dennis visited the Shredded Wheat Biscuit Company. We both went through the Larkin Soap Factory, and of course the Falls were wonderful.

 We went across to Canada and down to Lewiston on streetcars. Saw Brock's monument. Then we crossed the river below, and the car brought us back in the gorge along by the whirlpool, with the rocks, as it seemed, hanging over us. This trip was discontinued later, after rocks did fall and injured people. I was seasick coming up the Detroit River on the way back to Detroit.

 Later in the summer we went to Coldwater; stayed overnight with Cousins Albert and Ella (Van Schoik) Gowdy. They had Elsie and Suella Mary. They were busy looking over huckleberries, and we helped out. The next day we took the train to East Gilead, to visit the Pifer family, where Dennis boarded while teaching in their district. They had two young lady daughters. Mr. Pifer was an angler. We went fishing with potato bugs for bait and caught bluegills as fast as we could pull them in. I remember that he had a cider mill, made apple jelly, etc.

 My sister Susie, and Dennis' sister Maud, came together to visit us in Napoleon, and soon after they went home Dr. Norton of North Adams told Susie that she must stay in bed, because of ophthalmic goiter. Her eyes protruded, and she became very ill; Emma Gilmer was engaged as nurse. For some time she was fed intravenously. I went home, and sat up with her one night, about a month before Alice was born. About then she began to get better, and mother sent me home.

 Emma promised to be my nurse if she could leave Susie. She left soon after and came to Napoleon when we called her December 4th, 1906. Tuesday, Dr. Kirkland and Mrs. Smith was with me when Alice Annette was born at 9:30 A.M. Dennis had left for a few minutes at school. When he found that she had arrived during his absence, he hurried over to tell Mrs. Hackett, our good neighbor whose phone he had used that morning. Winnie Quigley was my helper for two weeks, $4.00; Dr. Kirkland, $10.00; Mrs. Smith $1.50; Emma, $15.00 ($1.00 a day), Total $30.50.

 Soon after we were married I had a bad fright in the night. Percy was with us, and I heard him holler and talk in the room upstairs over our bedroom. I thought someone was murdering him. I woke Dennis, but it was quiet then, and he said Percy probably talked In his sleep. But I lay awake four hours, and cried when Percy came downstairs happily in the morning. For months afterwards, I awoke thinking I heard someone in the house, and could not sleep again. Finally I would wake Dennis. He would get up and look the house over. Finally I got brave enough to take a stick, and go alone to investigate. After Alice was born we kept a lamp burning. Of course, I was up to feed her, and at last was free of fear.

 Mayme and Ben visited us later, and sister Mary made her wedding dress on my new sewing machine, in April, 1907. Our new brother-in-law was Rev. Elbert L. Mather, the Methodist minister in North Adams who had married Dennis and me. They were married April 17th. Howard and Iva Lamb were married on Thanksgiving Day, November 28, 1903. Mayme and Ben Pendell were married in August 1904.

 We lived three years in Napoleon, Michigan. In the summer of 1907 Dennis and Ben went to Winnipeg and Battleford, Saskatchewan, to locate some land in Canada on which to settle. They filed for 160 acres apiece, and planned to build a house, half on each claim, the next summer. So in June 1908, at the end of the school year, Herbert came with his truck and loaded it with all our furniture (we sold our library table and kitchen cabinet to Mrs. Hackett), which we stored upstairs at Father's where Alice and I stayed while Dennis and Ben made the second trip to Canada to build, and plow the required amount on their claims, ninety miles southwest of Battleford. Instead of one of them coming back for their families, they both came back to stay, for Ben was allergic to the mosquitoes. They were able to sell the yoke of oxen, wagon, plow, and the few tools they had acquired, and so their experience was not too costly.

 John was born at Father's on Monday, July 20, 1908, about 4:00 P.M., two weeks after Dennis got home from Canada. Dr. Ditmars charged $7.00 for two trips from North Adams with horse and buggy. Mrs. Church $2.00; Blanche Church, $3.00. Total $12.00. Dennis helped Father with the haying. John Van Raalte was the hired man.

 Father and Dennis took two loads of furniture by wagons to Dansville, where Dennis was to teach. They stayed over night there and came back the next day. Then we went by train to Dansville, where we lived from September 1908 to June 1911, in a house of Dr. Lemon's. Just before we left for Dansville, Michigan, I spit a little blood, for the first time since 1897. Not again until 1914.

 Rev. and Mrs. Arthur Camburn with Helen, Harmon and Paul compromised the Methodist minister's family. Dr. Lemon was our physician. Mr. and Mrs. Archie Marshall were our good friends; she insisted on calling John, "Robert Marshall." Her children were both girls, Mildred in high school, and Vancha the Primary teacher. Selora Dunsmore and Carmen Aseltine were playmates of Alice. Dennis was vaccinated for smallpox, and quite ill from the effects. John was sick with tonsillitis, and before he was well came down with the chicken pox, which Alice got also. John was very sick, and I remember Mrs. Camburn used to come down to our house and sit with me. John wanted me to hold his hand all the time, so I could not get any work done. Mrs. Camburn brought me biscuits, pie, etc.

 Once Alice, John and I went with the Camburn family to her home at Stockbridge, and stayed over night. The next day we called on some of the girls who had been at Wequetonsing the summer I waited on table there, the Grimes sisters, and Alma Rockwell. Susie came from Albion College, and sang at our commencement exercises one year. We bought an 80-acre farm, one mile east of Woodville, Newago County, Michigan from the Freeman's.

 Our next school was in White Cloud, Michigan. There was a farewell party at the Town Hall for the Avery family, moving to Limrock, Alabama and us. Rev. Camburn helped Dennis crate our household goods. Mr. Simonds drove a load to Williamston for freight to White Cloud, and we went on to Detroit and visited Aunt Emma and Nellie, and Aunt Hattie Wells. They had a little store on Gratiot, and a News Agency. Then we went to White Cloud by train. Dennis taught this school from September 1911 to June 1913.

 We rented a large, rambling old house with a big yard, with hen house and yard where we kept a few white Leghorns, in preference to a small upstairs apartment nearer the schoolhouse. This disappointed someone who seemed to expect us to rent the apartment. Eliza Cole boarded with us and attended school. Her father was rural mail carrier in Woodville, and also a lay Free Methodist preacher in the country church we attended when we lived on our farm summers. We camped in the farmhouse. Charlie Brown lived a mile away. He was now Supervisor of Norwich Township, married to Nora Lawrence, and working the Lawrence farm. Charlie and Mr. Lawrence did the teamwork on our farm, and we had crops of rye, and potatoes.

 Father Duguid visited us at the farm, also my father and mother. Dennis was building a small barn, and Father helped him shingle. We had a few peaches and dewberries. I recall that one day Dennis and Charlie asked if I would help stack rye. Charlie pitched bundles to me; I pitched or threw them to Dennis, and he laid the stack. A couple of women drove by with a horse and buggy and I overheard, "O that poor woman! They are making her work on that stack." And there I was enjoying every minute of it, as I worked only short periods. I also liked corn and potato planting, not hard work in sandy soil. We also weeded five acres of potatoes by hand -- mostly tumbleweeds.

 In White Cloud, Alice and John played with Selma and Angela Slade, Mildred Barnes, Dolis Phillips and sister. I sang in a W.C.T.U. Ladies Quartet; taught a class of young ladies in Sunday School; was president of the Ladies Aid Society for one year. We quilted a quilt in our large living room. One of our neighbors threw a stone at a White Leghorn chicken of ours that had flown over the fence, and strayed into his yard. Accidentally, it killed the bird. He brought it over to us with his apologies, and we had chicken for dinner.

 In 1912 we moved to the Storeman house, nearer school and church, and with the yard fenced. While here we were invited to a Christmas dinner in the country. Our host came after us in a sleigh drawn by a yoke of oxen. Our minister was Rev. Wellington Earle, a widower. Whenever he married a couple he would get Mrs. McClure, who lived across the road to witness the ceremony. If she were away he would call me, as I lived just around the corner. He had a nice garden and I canned his tomatoes for him. We hired his horse and buggy to drive to Diamond Lake to go fishing. He died that summer and his household goods were sold at auction. Dennis bought a tall open shelved bookcase and two shelves of his books.

 Our second daughter, Blossom Ruth, was born Sunday morning at 3:45 o'clock, February 9, 1913. If a boy she might have been named Wellington Earle, after Rev. Earle, he was such a fine man. Already Alice could read some, and she started school when the Spring term began, with Nettie Branch her teacher. We all went trout fishing along the banks of a stream near White Cloud, May first. There was a swinging footbridge near town, rather difficult to cross. White Cloud was a train junction, and Cousin Albert Gowdy visited us between train's one day. He was traveling about the country taking indoor photographs, and he was an expert in his business. He took a wonderful portrait of Alice and John, and Grandma's old melodeon. When Blossom arrived, Dr. Fowler officiated, and we had Mrs. Merrill and Nora Rice for a few days. Total cost, $26.00.

 In the late summer and fall Dennis worked in the pickle house, where the cucumbers harvested around White Cloud were weighed, sorted, and put in brine. He had passed a Rural Mail Carrier's examination, and was appointed to Bitely, Michigan. So we left good friends, by name of Bawkey, Barnard, Barnes, Cooper, Cole, Bartron, Fuller, Hall, Hayward, Kuhn, McClure, Murray, Reed, Slade, VanNess, etc., and moved to Bitely, Oct. 26, 1913. We lived upstairs in the old hotel; had five rooms, plus a large room for storage and laundry work. We had to get water from the town pump, or go into Mrs. Belcher's kitchen, which was a bother to her. We had no stationary tubs or drains. We had a washing machine that was swung by hand. I boiled the white clothes and took all day to wash when there was a baby to care for, and feed. Please remember that there were kerosene lamps, wood or coal ranges, outdoor toilets, no running water, no telephone, no radio and no television.

 At about four months of age Blossom suddenly could not seem to get the milk from her bottle. Each feeding would take about forty minutes. Dr. Branch finally cut the cord under her tongue, but it made no difference. I spent hours feeding her. She did not grow, as she should. Our doctors could find nothing wrong, although her head was slightly misshapen, and her feet turned outward perhaps more than normal. Whenever she leaned her head against me or against a chair back she rolled it back and forth -- but not when lying down. The doctor had to change her position in the womb before she could be born, and I think she may have been injured at birth, and then also later suffered an attack of polio -- about which we knew nothing in 1913.

 After Dennis had tried to explain electricity to John, we had the first snowfall of the season. John stood looking out the window at the storm and suddenly said, "Who turns on something to make it snow?"

 At a birthday dinner for Dennis, with his teaching staff present, John said, "Why do we have two spoons?" And another time with company present, "I know what those little dishes are for. Butter!"

 Once at the farm, John picked up an egg from the table where I was about to stir up a cake, and dropped it. He called "O Mama, come quick. The frosting's running out of the egg. Anyway it is all breaked for you."

 We bought the old Methodist Church in Woodville, and camped there a few days, until we could rent a small new house just beyond our farm, so Dennis could help during the summer on the farm, which was then rented. We could take the train from White Cloud to Woodville, and then walk to the farm about a mile east. Once I left on the train a granite kettle with some boiled potatoes and a bowl of butter inside, and the lid held on by a new leather shawl strap. We didn't find it at the terminal in Big Rapids. In later years I left a silk coat on the streetcar. This was turned in, but a good silk parasol was never recovered.

 When Rev. Earle was eating Christmas dinner with us, a young couple called and asked him to go home soon so they could be married in the parsonage. This Christmas was also our sixth wedding anniversary, so we asked them to be married in our home. They ate dinner at the hotel, and came back later and were married. A couple of years later they called on us at Bitely.

 Our house in White Cloud was almost across the road from the schoolhouse, and just around the corner from the church, and the stores were back of the lot. There was a tree large enough to hold a swing for the children. John, who liked to go barefooted, often stood on one foot yelling, until I pulled a sand burr off the other. One day John took pennies from his bank and went out of the back gate to the store and bought candy. We told him he must never open the gate and go alone to the store. But he went again. When I saw him returning I locked the house door. He could not get in. Of course he cried, and when he began to be frightened I opened the door. He never opened the gate again. Alice and John had always played together without fussing. Now John began to develop a mind of his own.

 Mr. and Mrs. Belcher ran the hotel in Bitely. He was ticket agent at the depot; the railroad track ran right in front of the hotel. There was no church in town, but Sunday School was held in the schoolhouse, Mr. Belcher superintendent. The ladies had a W.C.T.U. which met monthly in their homes.

 We bought a little shack by the railroad track for $40.00, but never lived there. Sold it for $50.00. Long Lake was nearby, and a few cottages there. Dennis bought three horses for driving on the mail route, a distance of twenty-eight miles. One horse was "Napoleon." The route was mostly through cut over land, sandy, with poor roads all times of year. He went within two or three miles of Uncle Albert's. Sallie's and Stephan's families visited us in Bitely. The Gleasons lived on a big ranch north of town. Mrs. Gleason was a cousin of Frank Birdsall, and I had known her as a little girl. Her daughter Ruth chummed with Alice at school, and brought our milk from the ranch each morning.

 That fall we moved to Bitely, Susie began teaching Music and Penmanship in Schoolcraft, Michigan. She had three years in Albion College, and graduated in Public School Music, and Voice, I gave her my violin. She sang in the church choir, and also in the operetta "Pinafore" put on that winter in Schoolcraft. About Easter time she had a hemorrhage of the bowels. Mother went to care for her, and later Herbert went and they brought her home. Herbert was living one and one-half miles east and one mile north of North Adams, and Father nearby on the angling road to Jerome.

 Susie had a nurse for awhile. She got a little better, so she was able to take a ride one-day. Then worse again. Mother was tired out, so they moved her to Herbert's. She could not keep anything on her stomach, and suffered so. She died May 29, 1914. Her funeral was Monday, June 1st, at Herbert's. I went down on the train from Bitely, taking John, while a friend stayed with Alice and Blossom. Grace, Mary, and I all wore white dresses, (I borrowed a white skirt from Clara Young) and Susie was dressed in white also. She looked very peaceful. Her superintendent, and others, came from Schoolcraft, and Albion. Myra Salisbury, who later married Dr. Pellowe, sang.

 Susie loved to sing, and had a strong, sweet, clear voice, She sang a lot in revival meetings at North Adams, and was a great help in the services. She belonged to Acapella Choir in Albion College. An autopsy showed a growth closing the opening between the stomach and bowel, and they suspected that her bowels were full of ulcers or cancers. Today, X-ray and surgery might save a patient's life.

 It was a dreadful shock, and I began to feel ill. Though never fainting away, I felt a sinking feeling, had indigestion, and was very tired. A doctor, summering at the lake, suggested that I take Blossom, and visit somewhere for a couple of weeks. So we took the train to Buchanan where sister Mary and Elbert lived. Blossom's picture in the oval frame was taken there. From there we went to North Adams, where Mayme met us. It was so hot a day that I took Blossom's shoes and stockings off on the train, and gave her a wet washcloth to play with. I stayed in bed all the next day. Mayme and Ben lived where brother Percy lives now, on what was then the Andrew Pendell farm.

 Then we went to Father Duguid's in North Adams for a day or two, and relatives called to see us there, before we left for Bitely. That was the only time they ever saw Blossom. I recall that Grandma Duguid thought Blossom looked so nice in her little pink gingham dress. She usually wore rompers because she could creep around more easily in them. By this time we were pretty homesick, and glad to get back to our family, and vowed we'd never leave them so long again.

 Mr. DePew, for whom Dennis had done some work while in Hillsdale College, persuaded him to give up his mail carrier job and work as bookkeeper in his office in Springfield, Illinois, where he ran an advertising business. We moved there on November 15, 1914, with a stopover in Buchanan with Mary and Elbert. We lived in a hotel in Springfield until Dennis found a house at 1346 North 6th Street, only three doors from his Mother's sister, Aunt Mary Akerman. Her daughter Pearl married Fred Maisel a few weeks later.

 Before we left Bitely I had been spitting blood again, and couldn't work too much. Pearl unpacked all our dishes and put them on the shelves. I was expecting a new baby about my birthday, January 19th, but Mary Elizabeth was born December 14th at 7:00 A.M., Monday morning, weight five pounds and twelve ounces; Dr. Taylor presiding at the breech presentation. Cost $25.00, as I remember, and Aunt Mary helped us a short time for $15.00. A Mrs. Prunk came one day a week to clean and iron. We sent the washing to the laundry, and got along fairly well, although my stomach hurt, and I never got rested.

 John caught the measles at school, then Alice and Blossom. John was quite ill. Alice not very sick and Blossom did not break out much. She would take only a little milk, and lost five of her sixteen pounds in about ten days. We lost her Monday evening, April 12, 1915. A little poem written that Spring tells it all:

 Dear Little Girl, whom I long to see,

Her Mother

July 1915.

 Our friend Evelyn played Grandma's melodeon while Jennie Caldwell sang "Safe In the Arms of Jesus", and Rev. Kruel preached, and read a poem he liked about the children playing on the streets of Heaven. She is buried in the cemetery in Springfield, not far from Abraham Lincoln's resting-place. He also died on April 12th, but fifty years earlier. We also have her name on the Duguid stone in North Adams Cemetery. Mary Beth grew slowly, but at last she thrived, and was a great comfort to us. She was a good baby, too, as all our girls were.

 In the fall we moved to 100 North State Street, rent being $12.50 per month instead of $20.00. Aunt Mary Akerman had an operation for gallstones, and lived only a few days. I had hemorrhages of the lungs. Dr. Humbert had me stay in bed for a week. He took away strychnine tablets and gave one-hundredth grain nitroglycerin tablets, and I had no more blood spitting for twenty years. Mary Beth had whooping cough, we think, and did not learn to walk until May 1916. Dr. Humbert was wonderful with her. He fixed her a cough syrup of lemon juice and sugar; and of ammonia and water when her heart weakened.

 Mr. DePew's Agency was failing, so we stored our goods, and drove our 1913 Ford, bought July 4, 1916, to Father's in North Adams. Dennis tried to find work. Alice stayed at her Aunt Maud's and attended school at Grubby Knoll. The rest of us went to my Father's and Mother's near Mud Lake, where John attended school. About October 1st, Dennis was recalled to Springfield, and we moved into a bungalow at 333 South State Street, a couple of blocks from our previous home.

 But by spring the business had failed completely. Dennis had sold our farm at Woodville, and bought 160 acres of wild land east and north of it, on the road to Big Rapids. He formed the Duguid Fruitland Company, and sold five and ten-acre plots to be set out to cherry or peach trees; he to take care of them for a certain time. So on April 11, 1917 we left Springfield.

 We stopped at Mary and Elbert's in Buchanan for a day or two, and then set out for Charlie Brown's home near Woodville, where we stayed until our household goods arrived. Mary Beth and little Charlie Brown had the measles, while Alice and John spent a week with Cousin Sallie Swift near Walkerville. Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence and Charlie's wife Nora were very kind to us. They would not let us go to a hotel in Big Rapids.

 We rented an old house of three large rooms across from Fay Rogers, about one and one-half miles from our land, where I held school every morning, until Alice and John had completed their year's work. We bought a team, a couple of pigs, and a few chickens. Dennis and a neighbor bought a stumping machine, and cleared a few acres of our land. We rented a field and put in rye and corn. We had potatoes and cucumbers on ours, and in front of the old house we grew turnips. A friend of Rev. Kruel's of Springfield came to see how "Fruitland" was progressing. He stayed over night, and seemed to be satisfied with what Dennis had accomplished.

 On August 3rd, my father and mother celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. We drove down from Big Rapids, and I think all of their living children were present. They were living on the Andrew Weeks' farm then, and I remember Father took all the small children for a ride in the only car he over owned -- a used? (none of us can recall the name).

 Our crops didn't amount to much, and we needed cash. Dennis was able to set a country school to teach between Big Rapids and Stanwood. He left our team with Mr. Rogers, our piano at Charlie Brown's; moved our furniture and chickens to a small place about a mile from the school. We went to church and Sunday school in Stanwood, and also Sunday School was held in the schoolhouse. There was rationing of white flour and sugar that winter. We tried to use some rice flour, but did not like it very well. So we ate corn bread mostly. We had a small hog butchered, and ate beans. We had a few eggs, but the neighborhood boys swiped our five nice young roosters and had a picnic, I suppose. Dennis quit teaching when it was time for farm work in the Spring, and I taught for three weeks on a Special Certificate. Mary Beth stayed next door while I was at school. They gave her lunches, and care for $1.00 per week. Then we moved back and into the old Rogers Home down the hill, in Hungerford, where the children had attended school in the early Fall.

 Here we had a wonderful garden. We had a cow now, and I made butter by putting the cream in a four-quart granite pail with tight fitting cover, then rolling or shaking. Mrs. Kane who lived on the big ranch at Hungerford, bought a pound roll each week. We had a few hens. Mary Beth's pet was a white one. When it wanted to set, she would grab it off the nest, and the entire scene would be re-enacted. Also, we had a balky horse. It was very irritating at times, but taught us "What can't be cured must be endured." An old man lived near us in what had been a store building. He told Mrs. Rogers that Dennis' overalls had the greatest number of patches he had ever seen on any pair. It seems that they were drying wrong side out on the clothesline, and some of the patches were of dark green duck cloth. I think he counted 28 patches. The trouble was, we could spare no cash to buy a piece of blue denim. We had no old, so I used pieces of an old duck skirt I had worn when riding bicycle. Summer was soon over (the old pants lasted through), and overall days were a thing of the past.

 Dennis had ordered $60.00 worth of fruit trees for our plats, but when they arrived in June they had been so long in transit and were so dried up that he would not accept them. Our buyers were missing their payments, and then gave them up altogether. Remember this was during World War I. Dennis saw he had best go back to teaching. He sent out applications, and soon had a choice of three schools - Clayton, Dansville, and Kingsley. Kingsley paid $140.00 per month, and he accepted that.

 Dennis had cut a quantity of poplar poles. So he rented a freight car, filled one end with wood, and the other with our furniture which did not need to be crated in this case. We sold the horses and cow, the chickens were all ready eaten, and we were on our way to Kingsley in the faithful old Ford. There were not many houses or much travel north of Cadillac, and when it grew dark we parked under trees near the road, and slept in the car. The roads were sandy and poor, and we did not know exactly where we were, as we had never been in Kingsley. So we proceeded with "high hopes and great expectations". The roads grew better, and there were real farms instead of cut over land. Suddenly we were looking down a rather steep hill right into the heart of Kingsley. Dennis looked for a barber-shop and parked right there. After the shave he hunted up a member of the School Board, and they sent us to inspect the house they expected us to rent. (We rented it.") Our goods had arrived, and after a little housecleaning we moved right in.

 It was now late August 1918. World War I still in progress. There was a parade in town with an effigy of the Kaiser hung, or burnt or dragged around. The ministers that year were Revs. Simonds and Finstrom; school board, Dunn, Fewless, John McCarthy; teachers Misses Kirchbaum, McManaman, and Euker. Later teachers were Miss Marvin, Mrs. Anthony, Mrs. Seibert, Miss Holmes, Miss Goddard, Kneale Smith, John Guy Duguid, and Malcolm Rogers. Other people - Rev. Potter, Rev. Wagley, Rev. Walker, Rev. Thompson; Linton, McDonald, Wilson, Mox, Fenton, Stockbridge, Miller, Hoeflin, Manigold, Case, Hamment, Mackman, Brown, Williams, Stinson, Gibbs, Dr. Brownson, and others. Mary Beth's playmate was Glen Hackman, and she caught chicken pox from Datus Moore. Irene Baumgarth was a chum of Alice's. Two of the teachers who boarded at Mrs. McCarthy's, had been calling on us one day, and Mary Beth skipped along with them when they left to go home. Upon reaching the street crossing they urged her to go farther. She said, "No, Sign on corner says 'Mary Beth, stay home'." There was no sign on the corner, but I had told her not to go beyond the corner. Armistice Day, November 11, 1918.

 This winter we had but little snow. Mr. Dunn had his car out in March, and took us for a ride. Summer of 1919 the children and I picked a few cherries for Mr. Stinson, who had an orchard in town. Summers of 1920 and 1921, we picked cherries for Mrs. Cronkhite's brother, Mr. Willowbee, who lived on the Peninsula near Old Mission. January 1920, I took the Federal Census in Paradise Township, leaving Mary Beth with Mrs. Quartermas who lived in the other part of our double house. Mary Beth began school in the fall. Margaret Wagley stayed with us while her parents and Vance were at Conference.

 The house we lived in was East of Mrs. Mike McCarthy's, and she was agent for the owner. The rent was $8.00 per month, and later, $10.00. They were about to raise it to $12.00 when Mr. Cook, whose house in the West end of town had been vacant for some time, offered it to us rent free, if we would pay the year's tax of $20.00. This was a large single house, farther from school but easier to heat, more pleasant, and more private. In the double house we had the Quartermas family, and later Mr. and Mrs. Bowman.

 So we moved into the Cook House in 1921, I think, and later bought the house for $400.00. At the end of the school year in 1921 the school board thought they wanted a new superintendent, but the high School pupils paraded up and down the street with placards, and chanting "We want Duguid", which was quite embarrassing to Dennis; so they hired him again and we stayed three years longer. The schools closed for two weeks in October so parents could have their children's help in harvesting the potato crop. Two different years I picked up a good many bushels while Dennis and John were digging. One Fall Dennis bought eighteen bushels for our consumption, and nearly all of them were bitter. But another years we had several bushels left in the spring, and were able to get a good price for them. Once our cellar flooded and a few spoiled.

 Aunt Sue Bagley died February 13, 1917, and Arthur and Alice's J.C. at age four, in September 1918. Ward Mason Wells died June 20, 1919.

 Rev. and Mrs. Thompson were near our age. We went skating together, and were good friends. Their first baby Mary was born while he was away at Conference. A year or two later he died in Traverse City, before the birth of their son, who lived only a few months.

 John's 12th birthday came while we were off cherry picking. His birthday cake consisted of dumplings made in boiling cherry sauce with plenty of juice.

 Mrs. Cronkhite, cook for the cherry-picking crew, suggested it to me because I had no oven. I cooked for my family and Nita Muth, who was there under our care. My kitchen was a little room built onto the end of the icehouse, about the size of a small pantry. It had two shelves, and a two-burner oil stove. Mr. Willowbee furnished the oil for it, and also our potatoes. He brought whatever I ordered from Traverse City, as he was there delivering cherries nearly every day. Sometimes after work we would walk down the road to a place where we could get to the bay, to wade or swim. We always had to wait until the dew dried off before picking cherries, so I managed to get our washing done. I also canned about thirty quarts every year, from cherries I picked up after work, from the ground. As the ground was sandy, these had to be washed thoroughly; they could not be sold. We all went to church and Sunday school at Ogdensburg in the cherry truck every Sunday.

 Mrs. Nixon, Mrs. Saylor and I went red-raspberrying in the hills, northwest of Kingsley. We wore overalls. Mrs. Howard went with us on an eight or nine-mile drive, which took us to wild land and woods beyond Fife Lake, where blackberries grew. One year we canned over one hundred quarts, besides selling thirty quarts of fresh berries.

 Mrs. Blackhurst and I visited, and took walks. Frances Dunn had the children and me at their Arbutus Lake cottage for a few days, while Dennis was at Summer School, or working in Flint. Mrs. Weaver and I sang alto together. I was treasurer of the Ladies Aid Society, and of the Methodist Church, and Secretary at Quarterly Meeting.

 Mrs. Frances Dunn died of cancer, after operations and a long illness. I had a slight operation in a doctor's office at Traverse City. Dr. Brownson was present and took me over to Mr. and Mrs. Wagley's where I stayed overnight. A taxi took me to the train in the morning. Arriving in Kingsley, John was at the depot to carry my satchel home, but the doctor was on the train also. He told the drayman to take me home, and snitched the telegrapher's chair for me to sit in on the dray. So John went back to school, and I rode the half-mile or more home in state. Nice Dr. Brownson! I suspect I paid the drayman, as he had to drive back to deliver the chair. I really was not able to walk so far.

 Alice did very well in school; played basketball; took music lessons; learned to knit, crochet and sew; cooked some, but wasn't very fond of reading. She was mechanically minded, I think, could fix door that wouldn't stay latched, etc. John was handy around the car, loved sports, reading, and wasn't above helping out in the house, if necessary. John and I painted the outside of the house in Kingsley, and he and his father shingled the roof. John never ran around town with other boys- night or day, although they were good friends. Dannie Hamment, next door small boy, was fond of following him around Saturday, or whenever he was outside, and they found plenty to do. Mary Beth and Della Hamment spent many happy hours playing together. I don't recall that they ever quarreled.

 A lady from outside put on a Tom Thumb show in Kingsley, among the primary pupils. She furnished all the evening gowns for the little girls, and the formal suits for the boys. There was a mock wedding. Dannie and Della were the parents of the bride, or groom. Dannie sang "Silver Threads Among the Gold" to Della. I do not recall who was bride and who groom, but the children paraded up the aisle in pairs, and the names of each couple were called as they appeared, by the name of some prominent family in town. Mary Beth was with Herbert Dunn. I believe they were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. John McCarthy. One little girl with a shiftless and not too honest father was paired with an underprivileged boy, and they were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Howard Dunn, perhaps our finest family. Such gales of laughter, and nobody's feelings hurt as far as I know. All the children looked so sweet, and acted like real troupers. They were deadly serious about the whole thing, while the audience exploded. Most us had a child in the play, so the laughter was proud and tender.

 Mother had an operation for cancer of the breast, in 1918, at Hillsdale, Dr. Burt Green, Surgeon. Two or three years later she had a lump removed from under her arm. In the spring of 1923 Mother was quite ill, and Father wasn't well either. So they went to Grace's for awhile, and got to feeling better, but mother thought the doctor's visits would cost less if they were nearer North Adams, at Percy's. So they went there. Later, for a change, they went to Herbert's. There Mother had a bad spell and Lulu sent for me. She thought one of mother's own daughters should be there to give her medicine, and care for her generally.

 I am so thankful to Lulu. It gave me the privilege of being with Mother for six weeks of love and laughter. In no time at all the long faces were smiling. Mother was up most of the time. She liked to have me read to her, and we fixed her attractive meals. Every day she had eggnog. She had the largest and best strawberries, etc. When she got restless she enjoyed our singing, Lulu soprano, and I alto. The hymns we sang seemed to quiet and relieve her. Sometimes she said she felt bad all over, but had no particular pain anywhere. But she slipped away from us, early in the morning of July 10, 1923. When we were trying to eat a little dinner, father burst out crying and said, "It's different when you know she isn't coming back."

 Mary Beth had gone down to North Adams with me in May, staying a week at a time with her Aunt Grace and her several uncles. After school was out in Kingsley, Alice had gone to Northport Point with other high school girls, where they were chambermaids for the summer. Dennis had a job in Flint, and John did farm work for his Uncle Percy. We all got together in August for another year in Kingsley. Father went back to his Farm four miles from Hillsdale. In February he went to Grace and Arthur's for a few days, and later to Will's in Pittsford.

 When he came back to Grace's his mind seemed disordered, and he would not eat; neither would he take medicine, and he acted strangely. He had to be watched constantly, and my farmer brothers needed to be putting in their crops. The Doctor advised that he be taken to the Hospital in Kalamazoo. He went willingly, but probably did not comprehend exactly where he was. He lived only a week longer. His sons had thought that he might live for months. If they had known how short his time was, they would have put off the farm work and kept him at home. He died April 27, 1924. Father loved to sing, taught us to read the Bible, and to have good table manners. Also to be quiet and well behaved at all times. He was proud of his boys when they plowed a straight furrow and of our good marks at school; and I remember him with deep affection.

 Alice graduated from High School in 1924. In August we moved by truck to Mt. Pleasant Michigan, so Dennis could complete his work for a degree, (he had been in Summer School there for two summers), and Alice could also attend. John had another two years of High School and Mary Beth was in the fifth grade in the Training School for teachers. We rented a house on College Avenue near the Campus for $27.00 per month, and had five boy roomers. I was in the State Tuberculosis Sanitarium from December 30th to February 28th; in Sunshine Cottage with eleven other girls. Alice ran the house, with good help from the rest of the family; they sent the laundry out, and Thelma Wilson helped Saturday mornings. At Howell, the cost to me was $1.00 per day (paid by my Gleaner Insurance), and the State paid the same amount.

 Dennis got his A.B. degree at the end of the winter term, 1925. He taught the Spring term of school in Coleman, Michigan driving back and forth. Alice married Nobel Frank June 20, 1925, in the Methodist parsonage. Emil Hagerburg and Helen M. stood up with them. Dennis and I were there also; Rev. Ledford the minister. At the end of Summer School we moved into a brick house across the street up on the corner. This house had a furnace, and the rent was $35.00. We had boy roomers here also and Alice and Nobel were here until spring.

 Dennis and John were working in Flint during the summer. He got a telegram offering him a position teaching in the Science Department of the Grosse Pointe high school. We did not want to move to Detroit then but he accepted the offer, coming home occasionally on weekends when the weather was good. I went back to Detroit with him the first of November, and stayed until Thanksgiving. During this time Arthur Westcott died, November 12th, of pernicious anemia, and we both went to his funeral, driving an old Buick he had just bought.

 Grace being left all alone, I told her if she so desired we would bring Mary Beth down to stay a few weeks, on our way back to Detroit; as Alice could keep house for John and Nobel. Mary Beth enjoyed living with Aunt Grace, and going to the country school. Grace said it was terribly lonesome until she came. Then Fallie died suddenly December 26, 1925, and nobody sent us word, and she a dear sister-in-law. We saw her last at Arthur's funeral.

 Sister Mary had an operation at the Methodist Hospital, Kalamazoo. Elbert was then preaching at Lyons, Michigan. She seemingly recovered bodily from this operation, but her mind was affected. She would be normal for awhile, and then feel her mind slipping. When she was gone, her voice changed to a monotone, and sounded hopeless. She wrote to us when she was normal, telling how hard she fought against it on account of her children. I went from Detroit about March 15th to see her, and stayed over night. She was in bed all of the time then, and was herself only once while I was there, for about five minutes. From Lyons I went by bus to Mt. Pleasant.

 When Dennis came home at Easter time he brought Mary Beth from her Aunt Grace's home to stay. He got stuck in the mud down there, but there were still ice ruts in Mt. Pleasant. Nobel got his Certificate for teaching at the end of the winter term, and got a spring and summer job driving a bread truck in the country around Pigeon. So he rented a house just west of Pigeon, and Alice and he moved there.

 Sister Mary died April 16, 1926. Brother Win and Minnie came from Midland, and went with John, Mary Beth, and me to her funeral in Lyons. She was buried in Albion the next day, April 19th. Because Alice was expecting her first baby very soon, we did not tell her of Mary's death at that time. Richard was born, May 3, 1926.

 Although Mary was five years older than I was, we had always been close friends as sisters. I sat next to her at table, and we worked and slept together. As I grew older, we grew closer. She visited Dennis and me in Napoleon, and made her wedding dress on my new sewing machine, in the spring of 1907. Later she often helped with my sewing, and she was always six months ahead with hers. The fall before she died she made over a coat of Alice's for Mary Beth, and also dyed it. We wrote letters regularly, and she thoughtfully saved the cute sayings of my children (as reported by me), mailing them to me years later. She was interested in all phases of church work, church music (she sang alto), and writing articles on various subjects. I think she acquitted herself well as a minister's wife. And how I miss my sister!

 Nobel was taken sick the last of May 1926, with typhoid fever, caused by drinking water from the well which was contaminated, they think, by a sewage drain in the field nearby. At the critical stage his brother Reuben sat by him all night, bathing him with ice water, then he began getting well. In the fall he began teaching a country school. He had a two or three year certificate.

 John graduated from Mr. Pleasant high school in June of 1926. He also had some credits in the College. After Summer School, John moved us by our truck to Detroit. I sold the old Ford for $2.00, to save taking it to the junkyard. We rented a small house at 9146 Cadiux Road, $35.00 per month. Town pump, and outdoor toilet. In October we moved to 17140 Kercheval Avenue. Helen Frank was born there on July 20, 1927, John's 19th birthday, which is also Arthur's (Grace's husband) birthday.

 Aunt Hattie Wells died at Aunt Emma's in Devil's Lake, April 10, 1927.

June 1928, John got Life Certificate from Central Michigan.

1928, built house at Drayton Plains during the summer.

1928-1929 John taught school in New Buffalo for one year; Caroline Weigold in Otsego.

1929-30, John learned meat cutting and worked for A & P and Kroger Stores. Caroline taught in country near Utica until February 1931.

 The spring of 1927 I had tried to sell Spencer corsets. I made just enough to pay for my samples, and expenses. My bag was heavy to carry, and I did not enjoy the work, so I quit. Then I worked for the Grosse Pointe Bank, calling on a list of people they gave me, who lived in Grosse Pointe, leaving them Bank literature, and urging them to use the Bank. This job was only temporary. I took school census two or three times. In April 1930 I applied for a job as census enumerator. I was given six square blocks near the east city limits of Detroit between Jefferson and Kercheval. Later I was given another section, which a man had given up. In 1933 I was called on to help in an Unemployment Census taken in Detroit. I enjoyed this type of work very much.

 Grace spent several winters with us. One winter she stayed with Mrs. Moore's children while she worked downtown; (they lived in the rear part of our house at 17140 Kercheval.). Another year Grace worked for a family who lived near Dearborn, spending the week-ends with us In Detroit.

 June 15, 1930, John married Caroline Weigold of Brant, Michigan at her home. Mary Beth was bridesmaid, and Bill Weigold best man. All Caroline's family, and some uncles, aunts, and cousins were there. Also Alice's family and Dennis and me. A Lutheran minister married them. A bounteous dinner was served immediately afterward. Late in the afternoon they drove away in Caroline's Ford, which her brothers had adorned as usual.

 We visited Alice and Nobel in the fall of 1930, and Alice and Richard and Helen came back with us for a visit. Nobel was working in the Fish Packing Plant in Caseville, and stayed with his mother in Caseville while Alice was gone. A week or two later he came down to Detroit, to tell us that the house they had been living in had burned, and all their possessions with it, except the clothes they had with them. Alice had winter clothes with her, because the weather was changing, and Nobel had most of his clothes at his mother's, and had also taken a big valise containing some diapers and new clothes Alice had prepared for the new baby they were expecting, for fear someone might steal them while they were away.

 Alice stayed with us until the middle of January. We were busy finishing quilts, and other sewing. They had $500.00 insurance, and she studied the catalogue and picked out the furniture they would need. We had just given them some new silver, but what she felt worse about was losing Grandma's melodeon, which could not be replaced. There was a vacant house near his mother's where Nobel put the new furniture when it arrived, and then came after Alice. Joan was born February 5, 1931. A few weeks later they moved to Pigeon.

 June 2, 1931, J. D. was born while they were living on Seymour Avenue. They being John and Caroline. Later they moved to Fenton, where John was manager in the Meat Department in a Kroger Store. We moved to 53 Oak Street in Grosse Pointe Farms in November 1931. Mary Beth graduated from High School in June 1932 and began college at Mt. Pleasant in the fall.

 Dennis handled some business for Aunt Emma. She brought her trunk, and stayed with us whenever she wished, sometimes for a few days, and other times for weeks. We enjoyed having her partly because she seemed happy with us. Grace and I pieced a Horoscope quilt one winter, from a pattern published in the Detroit News. We displayed the top at the quilt show, and received the second prize of $20.00.

 John and Caroline came back from Fenton in January 1933, I think. It was next to impossible to find a job. Donna Mae was born at Mr. and Mrs. Weigold's April 7, 1933. John helped take Grosse Pointe School census, in May. Then he got a job collecting for magazines, and they moved to Petoskey Avenue.

 While living on Kercheval I took care of a baby, Clifford Richter, for four months while his mother worked and supported herself and a little daughter in another home. On Oak Street I took a little four-year-old girl for a few weeks while she was recuperating after a bad case of measles. Her mother was a nurse, Pattie Dare cried when she had to leave us. She called us "Grandpa and Grandma." We picked cherries either one or two summers for Mr. Tompkins at Old Mission. Shirley Ann Duguid was born May 26, 1935 in Harper Hospital.

 Father and Mother Duguid visited us on Oak Street, and once brother Will and Clara came; also Nellie McConnell. We had read about Myron Gowdy living near Mancelona, so we went up there after cherry-picking, and found that he was my mother's nephew, my own cousin. So he visited us, and his family attended our Collins reunion in North Adams. I still write to his stepdaughter, Mary Patton. Her mother was Celia Delano, a relative of F.D.R.

 We also went into the Upper Peninsula to the "Soo" and camped at the State Park on Whitefish Bay, Lake Superior. Picked Huckleberries near Brimley, and found Alina Gustafson's home near Rudyard, but no one was at home. I began wearing glasses about 1934. Am quite near-sighted.

 In 1933 or 1934 we went from cherry-picking directly to North Adams, where we attended the Collins reunion at Bert Outhordts, and then went on to Chicago to the Century of Progress where we spent a couple of days.

 Our Church having to retrench, Dr. Moore moved his office to the parsonage to save telephone bill and heating the church. They had dispensed with a secretary, so I volunteered one day's service a week. Dr. Moore came after me at 8:00 A.M., and I had lunch with them.

 Now we decided to buy a home in Detroit. In the last of May 1935, we found a four-room cottage at 6124 Hereford Avenue with two low unfinished rooms upstairs and one-car garage on lot 50 by 166, and extra vacant lot. We bought this for $1,700.00, with a paving tax of about $400.00.

 I cooked on a smoky oil stove in garage. Later the city put in gas, and Dennis made a small cellar under the house. Richard made us a long visit that summer which, in July, had a week of over 100 degrees temperature.

 Father Duguid died in North Adams on October 11, 1935. Mother Duguid came home with us on Thanksgiving, and stayed all winter, which was extremely cold, with early deep snow, and icy roads until spring. Mary Alice Frank was born November 23, 1935, and I spent a few days in Pigeon helping Alice a little at Christmas time while Mary Beth was at home with her father, and grandmother who pieced a Flower Garden quilt, and seemed contented with us. We had lots of company. One night thirteen of us slept there.

 June 1936, Mary Beth received A. B. degree from Central Michigan Teachers College. In July 1936, Grace came to Detroit, and we went to Connecticut to the Gowdy reunion. We bought a two-wheel trailer to carry our tent, luggage, and camping outfit. We went through Canada, crossed the Ste Lawrence at Montreal; then down the west side of Lake Champlain, east across the Berkshire Hills to Boston, and back to Hazardville, Conn., where the reunion was held the first week of August. Coming home through New York State we visited Cousin Allie Gowdy Palms in Camden, some Gowdy and Collins cousins in Lowville; drove alongside the Erie Canal, and visited Niagara.

 Mary Beth was Principal in LeRoy, 1936-37; Gladys Gregory and Harland Bristah also there. We sold our Hereford property for $3,000.00 and bought 5752 Guilford Avenue for $3, 600.00 and moved there in November 1936.

 Marian Null died in June 1937. Aunt Emma died June 19,1937. They did not send us word. I suppose Nellie was too upset, but I was shocked and hurt, I loved her very much, she having been one of our family for so long.

 In the summer of 1937, I think, Mary Beth started working and training in a Beauty Parlor. Taking Grace, we planned to make a trip through the Upper Peninsula, and back through the Wisconsin Dells, thinking Mary Beth would go too. Her boss would not let her off, so we had to go without her. On a weekend a little later, with Grace, we made a trip to Holland, Michigan where Mary Beth met a Superintendent of Schools in McBride, and she was hired for the 1937-38 school year.

 When she was offered a contract for another year, she hesitated about signing because she knew she didn't like teaching. We advised her not to sign. For the next two years she had part time work only, clerking, but she insisted on paying us for board.

 I lost my appendix January 1, 1938. Dr. Williams removed it in Cottage Hospital; Dr. Ware looking on. Paid doctors $125.00. For eight and one-half days the hospital bill was $34.00, plus anesthetic $10.00, operating room $10.00, medicine $8.65, laboratory fee $2.00 dressings $1.00. Now I could ride in a car without getting so tired.

 In 1938 Dennis and I, with Mary Beth and Grace, went on a trip West, through Bad Lands and Black Hills to Yellowstone Park. Then out the west entrance and down to Utah through Idaho plains where, for the first time, I saw the whole sky at once. We went only as far West as Salt Lake, because Grace could only spare three weeks of time. We explored the City, visited the State Capitol, heard the choir in the Mormon Tabernacle, etc. We visited Mother Duguid at her daughter Joy Lord's farm near Sloan, Iowa. We drove back through southern Wyoming, Nebraska; passed through a town marked "Center of the United States," in Kansas; crossed the Mississippi at Hannibal, Missouri, into Illinois. Thence to Springfield, where we visited Hazel Harman and Pearl Maisel, Aunt Mary Akerman's daughter. Then back to Grace's. We had been gone twenty days. The date was July13, 1938. Our car was a '33 Chevrolet we had bought in 1936. Since living in Springfield we had been back only once before, during summer vacation; in 1927, as I recall. We were still driving the old Buick car. Besides visiting our cousins, and our Blossom's grave, we had driven past the house where Mary Beth was born, and two other homes where we had lived.

 John had a job in the Post Office now, and in the summer of 1939 was transferred to Chicago, where he rented a house in Maywood. We visited him there once before they returned to Detroit where they lived first in Lincoln Park, and then at 6410 St. Mary's. No, for that address is the place they moved from to go to Chicago. Dennis and I had read an ad of a house for sale on Archdale, and it sounded so attractive that we went to see it. We liked it so well that we suggested that John and Caroline buy it; which they did. John was a railway mail clerk.

 Douglas Ward Frank was born January 28, 1940. Mother Duguid died in August 1939; Uncle Fred Null the year before; Uncle Ben Pendell in July 1940.

 On June 28, 1940 Mary Beth married Richard Harold Bennett. Dr. Harry Howard officiated in the Methodist parsonage, her father and mother attending. She wore a rose from Mrs. Upson's bush, and Mrs. Maynard sent a vase of roses. Dennis had just traded in our '33 model Chevrolet on a '36, and he lent it to them for a honeymoon trip. Upon their return, Dennis and I, alone, started for the Smoky Mountains.

 We camped one night in a little rocky park just across the Norris Dam, in Tennessee, and the next morning had a boat-ride on the new lake formed by the dam. Near Knoxville was Indian Cave. We had a guide here, who turned on electric lights, as we went along for about a mile, part of the way by a small stream. There were both stalactites and stalagmites. On leaving the Cave we crossed a narrow river, with our car on a small raft ferry. This made a short cut across to the main road, saving several miles of back-travel.

 At Klingman's Dome in the Smoky Mountains we parked our car and walked up the long trail to the Tower, and up that. All to no avail, because there was a deep haze over it all. The trail was quite steep, and one could rest only by bracing one's self against a tree. If you have weak lungs, or any sort of heart trouble, do not attempt this climb. It will do you lasting harm. If you are fool enough to start -- get wise; turn around and go back. We camped in a tiny park on the mountain side; going down to Marysville and back to Knoxville.

 On our way to Washington, D. C. we saw many historical places -Gettysburg, Fredericktown, Harper's Ferry where Henry T. McDonald, President of Storer College (Negro), showed us around and talked over old times when he was Dennis' teacher in North Adams. Mt. Vernon and Arlington, Virginia, where we visited the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. We camped near the Potomac in Washington.

 We went to our senator's office to get passes that would allow us to attend a session of the Senate, but they were not in session at an hour when we could be present, but we were shown all through the Capitol Building. Dennis went up in the Washington Monument, while I sat in the shade below. We walked past the gates at the White House, and gazed at other noted buildings.

 We decided to go on to New York to the World's Fair. That night we spent in a little new cabin, and we nearly melted. The next morning was very warm. We got down off the Skyline Drive (or whatever high road it was) at the correct place, and left our car in Newark, N. J., I think, at a gas station from which we got a bus through a tunnel to New York City and to Pennsylvania Station. There we took an underground train to the Fair Grounds. It was the hottest day in all summer. That I remember - but not much about the Fair, except that we took a guided tour on a small bus, and went into two or three buildings near the station.

 When we went back for our car we had to hunt a little, because the bus stopped at a different corner than where we had boarded it in the morning. We knew it was at a Gulf station, and near by, so eventually we found it. We drove north on the highway on the west side of the Hudson River, passing the Palisades, and enjoying the view across the river. We finally turned west, and crossed Pennsylvania on the northernmost main highway. We camped in the woods near a little store, where the mountain laurel was in full bloom. It rained during the night, but stopped in the morning just long enough for us to get breakfast and pack up our car. The road ended a few miles below Erie, Pennsylvania, and we were soon at home in Detroit. Dick and Mary Beth rented a small apartment on Log Cabin for a few months, and then moved to a flat, 947 West Euclid Avenue, Detroit.

 From July 10-17, 1941, Grace, Dennis and I were taking a trip in Northern Michigan and Wisconsin. We started from Grace's, made call in Lansing, camped at Higgins Lake, made call in Mancelona, and crossed the Straits by ferry to St. Ignace where we camped in State Park. No, not this time. Instead, we drove about sixty-five miles farther, and stayed in cabin about ten miles S. E. of Newberry, without taking side trip to Tahquamenon Falls. About sixty miles farther on we spent some time at the Pictured Rocks, and arrived at Munising about noon. That night we camped in a State Park near Marquette; my notes say, "after Fish Hatchery, and missing road." I recall we had some difficulty following directions. It was in a pine forest. The next day we had a leisurely and enjoyable trip through Houghton to the tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula, where we made camp at Fort Wilkins.

 We saw some bears, but missed the feeding hour at the Bear Pit near Eagle Harbor. On coming out of the Peninsula, we drove into the Porcupine Mountains a ways. Here we found Lake of the Clouds. Dennis and Grace did not care to walk up to see it, and I was not able to; so we took a drink of spring water, and drove away. Along the shore of Lake Superior we picked up several interesting stone specimens. Also smooth, flat stones, fine for skipping on the water.

 From Ontonagon to Lake Gogebic is about sixty-five miles. We camped there July 14th. In 1941 it was a quiet, rather lonely place, but the lake was beautiful. It was thirty-five miles to Boulder Junction, and fifty miles farther to Tomahawk, Wisconsin, where we had a pleasant ride in Bradley Park, on a drive bordered with birch trees. We ate a good fish dinner in Tomahawk, and also bought souvenirs. Going on through lake country we passed Stevens Point half way to Wisconsin Dells, where we camp just outside at Rocky Arbor, at 7:00 P.M. on July 15th. The next day was very enjoyable, with a boat ride among the cliffs, and to the Indians old Council Chamber on the heights. We left the Dells at 3:45 P.M., July 17,1941.

 Distance traveled, 1580 miles. We had a camping outfit, got most of our own meals, and stayed one night in a cabin, and only once had to pay for camping space. We paid $1.00 for tire repair, and used 87 gallons of gas and 4 quarts of oil.

Total for Car $18.03

Food 6.27

Cabin &Camp 2.00

Ferry Boat 4.50

Rides

Total $30.80

 The 1937 trip with Grace, and without Mary Beth, was through Ithaca and points north in Lower Michigan. Dennis forgot tent poles and was allowed to cut some poles from the woods around the camp at Ithaca. We were in Kingsley over Sunday. We had called on Win and Minnie, and Elsie's family in Midland, Aileen's at Coleman, Dennis' cousins Gertrude and Neva at North Bradley. Then to Mancelona to Cousin Myron Gowdy's home. I think his stepdaughter went with us to Petoskey and a drive around the country. We camped in Benzie State Park, and also Muskegon State Park. From some park we walked a long ways through the woods to the sand dunes on Lakeshore and although we had marked the entrance to the trail, we had quite a lengthy hunt to locate it. We had lost our sense of direction, and had to go contrary to our belief in order to find the scarf we had tied to the limb of the tree.

 September 9, 1940, John and Caroline lost their baby daughter Darlene, who was born prematurely Sept. 7, 1940. William Richard Bennett was born Dec. 22, 1941; Marjorie Ann Bennett was born Dec. 1, 1942.

 In the spring of 1942 Dennis was getting rather nervous, and finding it hard to keep on running the school Book Store. The doctor advised that he take a vacation. Our neighbor, Mrs. Nichols, was telling me that she wanted to go to Louisiana to get her mother who was visiting there, but was afraid she could not drive so far, and her husband could not leave his job to go. I said, jokingly, "Dennis and I will go with you." The next day she telephoned me and said, "Seriously, would you go South with me? My husband says that he is willing to trust Mr. Duguid with our new Dodge, because he takes such good care of his own car."

 And so we had that lovely trip South, March l1--30, 1942. We drove down through Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, across the northwestern tip of Georgia, where we all left the car to step on Georgian sail, and then on through Alabama. We did not go to Athens, where Aunt Mary Wells had taught for so many years, as it was too far off our route. We were not driving the shortest route to Lafayette, La., because all of us wanted to see a bit of Florida, and we were heading for Pensacola. Frances Nichols, aged six, was very fond of Pepsi Cola and kept asking, "When will we get to Pepsi Cola?"

 We stayed over night in tourist homes. Some were lovely old colonial mansions; some rather shabby, where one felt almost unsafe; others just ordinary homes. As we were going into a restaurant one morning, there was something crushed on the threshold. I said to Dennis, "What was that? It looks like a little turtle." A waitress laughed and said, "It's just a roach." We don't grow them that large in Detroit. In fact, I never have seen one here, although I have seen them elsewhere.

 The scenery was beautiful. Mrs. Nichols preferred driving through the cities while Dennis liked driving in the country, and over the mountain roads, but one-day she got started up a mountain road without realizing it. There not being a suitable place to stop and change drivers, she simply was forced to keep going. I can hear her saying, "I just can't!" " I just can't!" We told her she was doing well, and would soon be over the mountain. Which of course she was.

 Spring was coming, and arrived as we drove south. Azaleas and other flowers lined the streets of Mobile. We drove through Biloxi, pronounced Biloxi. John had lent us his movie camera, so we got a few real good pictures. We crossed the Mississippi River at New Orleans, and other long bridges, beside the Gulf of Mexico. Then on west, and a little north, to Lafayette, La., where Nelle Heidelberg, Mrs. Nichol's sister lived. This town has the State University and at this time of year had a famous Azalea Trail

 There is nothing like Southern hospitality. We stayed there several days. They took us out for a wonderful fish dinner; took us to their cottage many miles away in Miss., and to the Evangeline Country nearby. We stood under the oak tree draped with Spanish moss, on the Bayou bank where Evangeline met Gabriel, and visited her grave by the side of the church nearby. We also visited a cemetery where the caskets are placed in stone or cement boxes on top of the ground, because the water is so near the surface.

 It was very damp in Lafayette. It was almost impossible to dry clothes out side, even in the sunshine. There were palms and a camphor tree in Mr. Heidelberg's yard where a mockingbird sang. Mrs. Nichols had another sister, Mrs. Delia Smith, living in Tyler, Texas. So, with her mother, we went on to Texas.

 Mr. Smith was the City Attorney. They lived in a new brick house in the southern part of the city. She had friends who were newly rich from oil wells who showed us their new mansions. Dining-room walls covered with murals; marvelous chandeliers; curving stairways; old Negro cabins in back yards. We visited the rose gardens for which Tyler is famous. They would not let us go to a hotel, and made us feel so welcome.

 We came home through Texarkana and Little Rock, Ark. crossing the Mississippi River at Memphis, Tenn. Then on to Dyersburg, where Mrs. Nichols had relatives within ten miles, but the roads were all flooded so that we could not hunt them up.

 We crossed the Ohio River at Padukah Kentucky into Illinois; to Metropolis northerly to Lawrenceville east across the Wabash River into Vincennes, Ind., while still in Illinois we called at the farm and oil wells of William Hamilton (teacher at Grosse Pointe), near Norris City. Our stop for the night was in Elwood, northeast of Indianapolis, through Huntington, then on to #127, eating lunch in Hudson, Mich. Then on to #112, enroute to Detroit. There was snow on the ground in Union City, but it was soft and slushy, and the roads were soon dry; and we were safe at home again.

 Dennis went back to the Book Store for a month, and then retired about May 1, 1942. He got a job as inspector, for the Glenn L. Martin Co., in Vickers 8-Mile Plant, Detroit. His war work ended in Sept. 1945, while a U.S. Army Air Force Inspector for the Graham-Paige Company.

 Erwin Wells boarded with us while working for the Western Electric Company. A Mr. Smith rented our Guilford house for eight weeks one summer, while inspecting the Parkside Building Project on Warren Ave., Capt. Bailey of Missouri Military Academy rented our house for two summers, while recruiting students for his school. They also lived one summer at 1275 Philip. We spent one summer with Mary Beth; one with sister Grace; one or two picking cherries near Old Mission.

 Luring the War years there was rationing of gas, food, shoes, etc. Another lady and I did a volunteer job of arranging ration cards in alphabetical order, in an office down on Cadillac Square. During the beginning or ending of a school term I worked for a few days in the Book Store helping Dennis with the rush of work. During the last few months I had been spitting a little blood occasionally, and in October 1943, I had my first bad hemorrhage of dotted blood.

 The Hereford Ave. Evangelical Church had always rented a house for their minister, and were now looking for a house to buy for a parsonage. All they priced were very high priced. We wanted our rooms all on one floor, so we decided to make them a reasonable offer. Their Board of Trustees accepted, and we sold to them for $6,500.00. Then we had to find a place for ourselves in a hurry. We at first thought we would rent for awhile, but we couldn't find a place I would live in. And one day in desperation, we bought a two-family flat at 1275 Philip Ave., located near our church, Jefferson Ave. Methodist, also near a postoffice, library, and stores. Grace drove her car to Detroit to spend the winter with us, and helped us move on Nov. 5, 1943, to our new home.

 PEARL HARBOR -- DECEMBER 7, 1941

Congress declared War on Japan, December 8, 1941

 JOHN D. DUGUID was drafted into the U.S. ARMY, Dec. 15,1943 #36-894-330. Arriving at Ft. Sheridan, Ill. Jan. 5, 1944, where he remained one week. Co. B, RRC, 1632 SU. Trained in Camp Lee, Va., AAS. (Postal), Q.M.S. Then as S/Sgt. in Fort Benning, Ga. from the middle of April to the first of August. They sailed from New York August 10, 1944, and landed in Liverpool, and went by train to Cirencester, about 25 miles from Bristol, Eng. They sailed from Southampton to Omaha Beach near Cherbourg, France. They had post-offices in LeMans, a city of about l0,000; Eperny, 3,500 pop; Paris; Liege, 25 or 35 thousand; Namur, 35 miles from Brussels, Belgium; Bielefeld, Halle, and Berlin in Germany. Surrender papers were signed May 8, 1945, but John did not start on the return trip from Europe until Nov. 30th, arriving, in New York, Dec. 12^th. Discharged Dec. 20, 1945.

 RICHARD HAROLD BENNETT, A.S. 951-44-59. Drafted Jan. 8,1944, Detroit, Co., 190, U.S.N.T.S., Great Lakes, Ill. Trained as electrician in Co. 38 Section 1, N.T.S. St. Louis Mo. F 1/c in Little Creek, Va. Also in Philadelphia, Pa., and in Bravo Corp., Wilmington, Del. U.S.S. L.S.M. 416, c/o Fleet P.O. New York, N. Y. E.M. 3/c; U.S.S. L.S.M. 416, c/o Fleet P.O. San Francisco, Cal. E.M. 2/c. He sailed from Philadelphia, south, through the Panama Canal into the Pacific. When threatened by a typhoon they had to leave harbor, and ride out the storm fifty miles off shore. They lost only two men from their crew in service. One was killed accidentally by a shot from one of their own boats, and the other was washed overboard during a storm. They traveled mostly in convoys, transporting the machinery of war, and sometimes troops. They were in the Philippines and Okinawa, and when the war ended disembarked at Los Angeles, took train to Toledo, Ohio, where he was discharged Nov. 30, 1945.

 RICHARD JOHN FRANK entered U.S.N . in Detroit, Mich. Oct. 19, 1944, and was discharged as S1/c (SM) USNR on July 25, 1946. No. 946-45-17. Trained at Service School Command at Great Lakes, Ill. He was a Signalman aboard the merchant ship S.S. Westwind in San Francisco Day. Also on the aircraft carrier Antietam. They visited the ports of Tsingtao and Shanghai, China, Hong Kong, Manila in the Philippines; Yakasuka, Japan; and the islands of Guam, and Saipan in the Mariana Islands.

 NEIL A. LIBKA drafted into the USN August 3, 1944, in Detroit, Mich. Trained at Great Lakes, Ill. as Electronics Technician. No. 953-27-86, rank S 1/c. Schools - Chicago, Gt. Lakes, and Treasure Island. Over seas to Guam in Sept. 1945. Assigned to U.S.S. Sperry, AS 12 (submarine tender) in October. Back to San Diego harbor end of Jan. 1946 until discharged from active duty June 21, 1946, Gt. Lakes Naval Training Center, Discharged from U.S.N. Inactive Reserve, June 21, 1954.

 JOHN D. DUGUID, JR. U.S. ARMY, 55-286-017, drafted at Detroit, July 22, 1952. Trained at Camp Breckenridge, Ky. He was sent to San Francisco in December. Reached Japan Jan. 10, 1953, and left March 23rd for Korea, arriving approximately Easter, Sunday, April 4th. He was an Aerial Photo Interpreter, examining photos for enemy positions and locating them on the map. Left Korea on his birthday June 2, 1954; reached San Francisco the 18th; Fort Sheridan on the 22nd. Discharged on the same day.

 Since his thirties Herbert had had a bad heart and almost every winter had bad colds, or flu. He was sick when we moved to Philip Ave., and died in the Hillsdale hospital Jan. 7, 1944. Herbert always whistled while he worked, and seemed cheerful. He sang tenor, and with Lulu's fine pianist, there was always music in their home. He was the first brother to leave us.

 In September 1944, we rented our home to a Lt. Norfleet, for the winter at least, and went to live in Dick and Mary Beth's flat at 947 Euclid Ave. He was in the Service, and she stayed at a friend's near Lafayette, Ohio. Lt. Norfleet left our house about the first of June 1945, as planned, but he had re-rented about March, to a Mr. and Mrs. Alsop who did not want to vacate. We had to go to court, and it took nearly four months to get them out. In Wartime the owner seemed to have no rights at all. In one case, the owner had a man tenant who swore at her repeatedly, and when she wanted him ousted, the judge told her she would have to learn to get along with people -- and let him stay!

 We came home from Mary's flat in October 1945, and Dennis, now really retired, BEGAN GETTING BREAKFAST!

 In 1946, May or June, Mrs. Jorden moved her furniture from our upper flat to Alpena, but her daughter Lois remained with Alberta, who then married Jack Janssen. They were here three years. Lois was married and left us in September 1947.

 Dennis and I took a ten-day trip to Florida, extending from April 25th to May 4th, 1947. We had been talking with Grace of such a trip, for two or three years, so asked her to go with us. She said she would rather not go if we were not going to stop to look at all the interesting sights. We were going for a leisurely drive, and to see the geography of the South, and as it tired her to ride, we made the trip alone.

 When we drove into Toledo, speedometer at 47,120 miles, April 25th at 2:00 it was raining. We were detoured to Woodruff street, and passed very large lovely houses. Forsythia was in bloom; also tulip trees. There was Maumee River, Homewood Farm, Old Glory Farm, New Rochester, West Milgrove, Fostoria, rather flat land becoming rolling on through small towns.

 In Upper Sandusky hedges and shrubs were green. We crossed Little Scioto River and came to Marion; passed Harding Memorial Tomb. Fruit trees in bloom. Twenty-five miles farther on is the Olentangy River. There are beautiful and many caverns. At Worthington was the Methodist Children's Home.

 Now it was 6:00 P.M., speedometer 47,249, and we were at the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio, where we stayed over night in a tourist home. We found a flat tire in the morning, and it was ten o'clock when we finally ate breakfast at Sam's on High Street, south of Mound. We called at the office of Burley Lamb, (Howard Wells' brother-in-law), but he was absent.

 About five miles south of Columbus was the Hartman Farm. Peach orchards were in bloom. Very pretty large fields, hills, and woods. Little Walnut Creek flooded; far distances. At 47,281 we reached Circleville, home of some of the cherry pickers. Here we saw monument to soldiers in the battles of Antietam and Vicksburg. Then Chillicothe, Mt. Logan, Paint Creek, Pinipinook Creek, Massieville, old town between mountains, with swinging bridge and mountain stream, mines, coal chutes.

 We crossed the Ohio River at Portsmouth. On #23 through Ashland and Louisa, a rather pretty place (across the Big Sandy River is West Va.) and reach Pikeville 27 7:30 P.M., speedometer 47,486; 237 miles today.

 The next morning was Sunday, April 27th. We started at 6:30 A.M. on over the winding mountain roads we went. Near Jenkins we cross into Va., around through Big Stone Gap and Clinchport into Gate City. At Kingsport we were in Tenn. We took a movie on a hillside where one could not park on level ground. We would think we were out of the mountains, but they stretched on and on. When we needed to park we would block a wheel with a large stone.

 We went through Johnson City to Erwin, still on #23 into North Carolina, and joined #19 into Ashville; then we took #25 to Hendersonville and on South to Greenville, South Carolina. We drove south until 8:00 P.M., when we arrived in Greenwood where we stayed over night in the Greenmont Tourist Home. We ate supper in the car, and our breakfast next morning near the depot. About sixty miles south of Greenwood we left South Carolina by crossing the Savannah River into Atlanta, Ga. Still on #25 we passed many religious signs, trees tapped for turpentine, Negroes farming, little sawmills, pralines, and level land. We drove as far in ten hours as we had driven in thirteen hours the day before. Large plantations and stately Southern mansions.

 We crossed into Florida over the St. Mary's river, and entered Jacksonville through Negro slums. There were many frame ramshackle tenement houses, and not one had ever seen a drop of paint. It was a bad advertisement for the city. But on the other side of Jacksonville we found the most modern of motels and only $3.50, on April 28th, 1947. This was really a large-room cottage, Beauty-rest mattress, clothespress, lavatory with shower, radio (with pay slot); no cooking.

 The next morning soon after starting out, we had a flat tire, and in St. Augustine Dennis bought a new tire and tube. It was a very hot day, and although we explored a little we did not try to see the "fountain of eternal youth." In fact it was so hot that we did not know as life was worth living. It looked like an old Spanish city, which it was.

 In order to travel near the Atlantic we left #1 for #140, but still did not see the ocean much, and there was only a jungle of low trees on our left. We ate dinner in the Ocean Park Coffee Shop at Daytona Beach. (Fifteen miles farther on is New Smyrna Beach, where John and Caroline were in l959). There were present six or seven old ladies from a nearby hotel, very vivacious, and telling how much they enjoyed their hotel rooms, the view, the food, Florida etc. Right then I decided that I never wanted to be an old lady alone in Florida. But I had grown very faint from the heat, and that fact may have colored my view.

 After half an hour in the shade, which seemed cool, we decided to go inland on through DeLand and Sanford to Orlando. At Sanford we bought gas from ex-Michiganders. They said the mosquitoes were still pretty thick away from the coast. There were many orange groves around Orlando. Kissimmee was a new town and they were building roads. It was very dusty.

 Now we went S.E. to #1, either on #192 or 29 and 30. The last miles had a new built-up-road, not quite completed through a marshy plain. There were many flying and singing birds, and I think herons. It was just before nightfall, very quiet and peaceful. It rained a little. We stayed over night in Vero Beach at West's Motor Lodge. They were wrangling about something. Perhaps running a lodge is not always fun. Just now I am realizing that we took a big detour around Cape Canaveral then not so famous.

 We left Vero Beach at 8:00 A.M., speedometer at 48,384. In W. Palm Beach was a monstrous pink stucco hotel; too overwhelming. Lauderdale was quite a large city, and having a lady friend living there who sells real estate, made it more interesting to us. We ate dinner under a tree in Hollywood. This was a pretty neat homelike little town where one might like to live. A mocking-bird sang in a tree.

 Our car had not been acting too well, and the brakes were not too strong, so when we arrived in Miami Dennis went to a good garage, and had it over-hauled. It was the warmest day yet, about 90 degrees, and Dennis wanting to see the work done on the car, I spent my time in the nice clean big lobby. We had ice cream in a nearby dairy bar, and even so it was very sweltering. We were there for hours; repair and parts $62.50.

 Neither of us cared to drive to Miami Beach, a mile or two over a causeway. If we went to Key West it would be 175 miles down, and all but 22 miles back on the same road. So we chose Tamiami Trail, ninety miles across southern Florida to the small town of Naples. This road is through The Everglades and for miles borders the Tamiami Canal which was covered with water hyacinths and other vegetation. Every eighty rods, or oftener, we crossed a one-width bridge.

 It was cooler now. Night was approaching. The scene was beautiful; we were alone; then it began raining gently. We passed through a small Indian village and learned that we must drive miles farther before we could find lodging. Because of the storm it was really dark, and Dennis drove cautiously. We met a lone car, and I, at least, was afraid. At last we reached Naples with no accommodations, but just beyond were motels, and at 8:30 P.M. we rented a motel at Naples Motor Court for $3.00. It had been a long hard day, (only 251 miles driven) and we rested well in the crude cabin.

 At 7:15 o'clock on Thursday morning we headed for Ft. Meyers on #41, over which we traveled all day. At Punta Gorda we were five miles from Cleveland, Florida, where Gaunt and Gertie Schairer later moved. My U.C.T.U. friend Florence Cole and her husband drove their trailer to Florida for several summers, and Punta Gorda was their favorite site. I recall eating a lunch there in the shade of a very large tree, after crossing a small bridge.

 In Sarasota we drove around to see the beach, but did not know where the Big Circus had its winter quarters. There were so many new buildings. There was a bare look to Sarasota, which I believe was due to the lack of trees. Every-thing was neat and clean, and we both liked the place.

 Right here I will say that I did not fall in love with Florida. It was too hot and humid. I do not like crocodiles and alligators. Give me good old Michigan with its maples and elms and evergreens and all kinds of weather. But Florida is a very interesting place to explore because it is so different from the North. Most of the winter tourists had left Florida before May first, so summer rates were charged; traffic was light.

 We did not go to St. Petersburg, and I recall very little about Tampa. My scanty notes do not mention it. Of course we read that very many rich people and actors have homes or spend a great deal of time there. My memory is of palm-lined streets and a long bridge.

 While driving we took movies of peach orchards; we passed a gang of convicts working on the road; there was a small town called "Inverness", old and probably Scottish. We took a fancy to it and would have liked to stay there a few days. There were Dunnelion, Williston, Newberry, High Springs Lake City, and White Springs where we crossed the Suwannee River. It was not much more than a ditch here, as its source was not many miles distant. It is really quite a large river; and long, because it meanders around. At last it flows into Suwannee Sound, Gulf of Mexico, through two mouths.

 After a day's drive of 354 miles, at 6:15 we reached the small town of Jasper, Fla. The sky was very black, and the wind rising. A bad storm was brewing. We found a tourist home just in time. Once, years before, there had been a cyclone there. It looked like one now, but it did not happen. Our room was only $2.00 because it was really an enclosed porch. In the morning we mailed a card to Mary Beth, hoping for a clear postmark "Jasper" (father's name) but it arrived with no postmark or cancellation.

 May 2nd. For miles the country was flat. There were many turpentine pines. There were peach orchards with flat-topped trees, and some pecans. The water looked pink because of red clay soil. We saw a pool covered with lilies, and some farms with cattle. There were many Negroes; a cement plant. For dinner we had mashed potatoes, string beans, beets on lettuce, barbecued pork, corn gems, raised biscuits and coffee.

 Macon is a large city of 80,000 on #129. It was cool enough for sweaters now. On 80 miles to Athens, an aristocratic Southern city of beautiful mansions, and very hilly. The wind was rising and a storm brewing so we stopped at 5:45 P.M. in Gainesville, to be sure of lodging. Our room had eight windows.

 May 3rd, speedometer 49,305. 44 miles to Neel Gap (Frogtown Gap until 1925). 3,125 feet high, Blood Mt. (The Great Frog) and Cherokee Falls. There were 24 curves in one mile. Now we need coat, sweater and heater. We pass Fishing Lake and Blairsville. There is dogwood everywhere. We have driven 70 miles, and here is the State Line between Georgia and N. Carolina. We looped the loop going into Murphy, and through Bryson City and Cherokee City (Indian Reservation). There were many cabins for tourists.

 We took both movies and Kodak pictures while going through the Smoky's. At New Found Gap the elevation was 5,048 feet. Here we met a cousin of Arthur Westcott's from North Adams, Martin Westcott. On through tunnel, and on 171 to Gatlinburg, Tenn., and to Sevierville where we take #35 to #25E. We pass signs - (JESUS SAVES) (JESUS IS COMING SOON), and back in Georgia was a high stone cross.

 We go through Morristown and Tazewell. There was a Lincoln Memorial University at Narrogate, Tenn. Then Cumberland Gap, and into Va., but within a mile we were in Kentucky. Here was the "Pinnacle." We only looked up, and did not ascend it. Through Middlesboro, Pineville and Barbourville to Corbin, Ky. Here we stayed overnight at Hodges' Cabins where there was natural gas, and the window had to be kept open several inches. It was a cold night. We drove 316 miles that day, and also the day before.

 May 4th. Speedometer 49,621, 8:00 A.M. on #25E to Richmond; then on #227 through Winchester to Paris. At Booneville a statue of Boone. Narrow, winding, hilly road; Bluegrass country; lovely Southern homes. We leave Paris on #68. Passing Millersburg Military School we saw cadets marching into an old church. There were horses in the Blue-grass pastures, and also sheep. White board fences, and sometimes shale. A monument on the battlefield at Blue Licks, where the last battle of the Revolution was fought between Ky. and the British and Indians. There was an old church built in 1764. In the small town of Washington we saw a stone block from which Uncle Tom was said to have been sold.

 At Maysville we crossed the Ohio River, and followed #68 to Toledo. We ate lunch from our dinner-pail in a pretty park in Ripley. North of Georgetown at New Hope we saw a covered bridge on a west side road. At Fayetteville is St. Aloysius Military School. Now there were roadside parks, and Wilmington seemed more modern. Xenia was a city of 10,000, rather pretty. We passed Justamere farm. Leaving Springfield, Ohio there were tourist cabins north of Urbana, and also near Bellefontaine. Supper in Kenton, near Courthouse. Then Findlay, Bowling Green, Perrysburg, and Toledo #24 and #25 to Detroit. It rained and blew the last 113 miles. We followed a truck with good lights. Speedometer 50,077. 11:15 P.M. Total mileage 3120. Gas and Oil $55.00 Parts and Service $87.73; Meals $12.00, Lodging $26.00, Other $5.17; Total $185.90.

 While at Grace's that summer we attended an auction sale in North Adams, and bought the Harvey Helmick place. Grace lent us a worktable, and with a few old things bought at auction, including a smoking old cook-stove, we camped there while Dennis and Dick put a new roof on the back wing of the house, had the house wired, and installed a furnace. Dick and family moved in about Thanksgiving, and Dennis and I went back to Detroit. Dick didn't find much work in North Adams vicinity, and it was too far to commute to Detroit, so in April '48 they came here to 1275 Philip to look for a place to buy in Detroit. We went to North Adams so Billy could finish the first grade there.

 In late December of 1947 Dennis began to shed his skin in flakes. His flesh was swollen, pink and burned like fire. It attacked his head, arms, hands, back, trunk, legs, and at last his feet. They were swollen, and he shuffled them continually. He would disrobe several times a day and sometimes we would sweep up as much as four tablespoons full of scales. Then he would feel better for a while. He ate about twice as much as usual, and felt quite well except for the burning. Dr. Ware gave him shots, and he tried all sorts of salves and powders. He lay on the davenport most of the time until March, when it cleared up. The Doctor thought it might have been caused by the dust he breathed from the old shingles, and in cleaning out the attic in the North Adams house.

 We had quite a lot of company that spring and early summer in North Adams, as the children and grandchildren wanted to see our farm, and we had relatives nearby. There were not many in town that we knew, and we found the house and the sloping yard not to our liking, although we did like the large garden spot. So we gave up the idea of a North Adams home, and decided to fix it up to sell. Dick and Mary Beth found a two family flat in Highland Park and moved there in August 1948, so now we were camping again. Dennis dug, bored, and drove a well, put in an electric pump and tank, and pipe to kitchen sink and to a septic tank, in preparation for a bathroom. We sold the house in October 1948, and came back home to #1275 Philip Ave., Detroit 15.

 In early December I had my second bad hemorrhage, and another the next day, but I was in bed only four or five days. Now I began to be more careful about lifting, and found that I must not walk against the wind or up hill. I learned to keep out of drafts, and not to get too tired. Dr. Ware had died in the summer, and Dr. Leithauser started me on Squibb's Basic Formula (B vitamins etc.,) but Dr. DeSmyter came when we needed a doctor in the night, so he became our family doctor.

 Sister Grace had sold her farm, and after looking at homes in North Adams finally bought in Hillsdale at #38 Garden Street in 1948. While visiting her in the summer of 1950, Dennis bought a small farm at 744 Baker Rd., near Jerome, Mich. on July 28th. We lived there with a handful of furniture until October 14th, when we sold it on a contract, at a small profit. I had a hammock between two shade trees in the pleasant back yard, and spent every morning there while the birds sang in the treetops.

 But again I had hemorrhages after getting back to Detroit. I had taught the A.Y.S. Class in Sunday school, and was a member of the Ladies Aid Society, and entertained them in our home, but now I had to curtail my activities. My lungs ached, and there was pain under my shoulder blades. The Doctor said I had chronic pleurisy. But if I was careful not to catch cold, I did not cough so much, and managed to do the housework. Every year or two I had blood-spitting or hemorrhages.

 Feb. 3, 1945, Helen Annette Frank married Reynold Jay Anschuetz in Reno, Nevada. They lived first in Oakland, Cal, and then in San Francisco. Ray was born Oct. 29, 1945; and Gerald Lee March 24, 1947. Alice went by train to California to visit them in March and April. They returned to Michigan later that spring, and finally located in Saginaw.

 Richard John Frank married Dorothy Wilson of Caro, Mich. June 25, 1949, in the Methodist Church Chapel. A large group of relatives and friends were present. They rented an apartment in Mt. Pleasant, while Richard took his senior year in college, and Dorothy held a secretarial job there.

 Joan Lois Frank and Neil Libka were married Sept. 10, 1949, in Pigeon. They had a nice wedding in the Methodist Church. Alice made the wedding gown. Joan had completed one year in college. Now she worked in restaurant while Neil took his senior year at Mt. Pleasant.

 Brother Will died at his daughter Fern's home in Lansing June 3, 1950. He had been in bed for a great deal of the time for several months, although he usually got up for supper. His mind wandered at times, but never when we were calling there. For years he had a mail-route from Pittsford. He loved that work and felt sad when retirement age arrived. He was kind, conscientious and helpful. Aunt Clara died in 1945.

 John and Caroline sold their home at 14591 Archdale, Detroit in 1948, and moved to Chesaning, where Caroline had graduated from high school. When his railway mail-clerk job took him to Cincinnati, John slept at our house every other night. When on trips North, he slept here all day and ate supper with us. While renting Mrs. Bailey's house in Chesaning, John and Caroline had a reunion of all our family to celebrate Alice and Nobel's 25th wedding anniversary of June 20, 1950. We were all present except Neil. J. D. brought his girl friend, Joyce Ostrander.

 Besides Dennis and me there were our three children, and Nobel, Caroline, and Dick; our ten grandchildren, and Reynold, Dorothy; and our two first great-grandchildren, Ray and Gerry. We had a potluck dinner at tables on the lawn, and Joyce took our pictures in front of the rose arbor. Alice and Nobel received a gift of $25.00. Dennis and I gave John and Caroline a gift of china for their 20 years of married life, and to Dick and Mary Beth ten pie tins, with one dollar between each two plates. For their 10 years; for Helen and Reynold (five years), a set of bath towels; Richard and Dorothy (one year) a paper picnic outfit; Neil and Joan (one year), paper napkins, etc.

 Donna Mae sang "When I Grow Too Old to Dream", with Mary Beth at the piano; Mary Alice played the cornet in unison with Helen and Reynold on their xylophone. And a good time was had by all. John built Chesaning home in 1950.

 Minnie Hopkins Wells died in June 1952, with a relapse of pneumonia. She was a fine penman, and had a good singing voice, and also was a good seamstress. She had a pleasant cheerful personality. Win and Minnie's daughter Aletha (Gillean) died of cancer at the age of 58, Dec. 17, 1952. She was my father and mother's first grandchild.

 Brother Winfield died April 28, 1953, at his Daughter Elsie's home, in Midland. Roger and Elsie think that he had a very slight stroke a few days before, as then he had some difficulty in handling his fork; but he did not complain of feeling ill. He was sitting quietly in his chair when the end came. He had been a teacher, farmer, meat cutter, and carpenter. He took a course in drafting when quite old, and carpentry was what he loved. He was quite a tease as a boy, and never outgrew his love of practical jokes. Although bothered by aching knees in old age, and a heart difficulty, he kept busy. He also grew very deaf. When he was up late at a grandson's wedding reception, I asked him, "Are you tired?, and he replied "I never get tired." All my brothers were, and are, Methodists, and neither drink, smoke, nor swear. Once I heard Father say "Great Peter" and I was amazed.

 After graduating from C.M.T.C. in 1950 Richard Frank began teaching in Traverse City, while Dorothy worked in the office of a lumber company. Their first child was born August 20, 1952, Dennis Jay; Debra Marie arrived April 3, 1955. Neil Libka also graduated from Mt. Pleasant in 1950, and he and Joan lived for a year or so with Nobel and Alice in Pigeon. Harold Alan was born there on Aug. 20, 1950, and Robert John Sept. 19, 1951. In 1952 Alice and Nobel bought a home at 3429 Osler Street, in Saginaw, as Nobel now worked for the Mich. Ins. Inspection Bureau in Saginaw, where Reynold Anschuetz had worked since 1947, selling their home in Pigeon to Neil and Joan. Alice Christine Libka was born Oct. 9, 1953.

 Alice and Nobel planned to go to the Gowdy Reunion in Conn. during his vacation in August 1954, and asked Dennis and me to go with them, but fearing I might have hemorrhages during the trip, and it being imperative for Nobel to return on a certain date, we had to decline the invitation. At breakfast I remarked to Dennis, "If we were going East, today is the last day we could leave Detroit and get there in time. It was a lovely day -- and at 1:00 P.M. we were on our way, driving our own car, and really we hadn't planned to go.

 We went to Port Huron, across the bridge to Sarnia, Ontario, and stayed over night in Brantford at a tourist home. Just as we were about to leave in the morning, I missed my glasses. The house door had locked behind us, so we had to arouse the landlord to get back in. After we had driven about thirty miles I missed my handbag. Of course it was thirty miles back where I had put it the night before. We had forgotten the name of the home, so we could not send for it; we were not returning that way. Although there was nothing of value in it, it did have our entry permit into Canada. So back we went, I feeling very silly, and Dennis a little amused by my carelessness and wondering when we would eat breakfast.

 At Niagara Falls we took a route not too far from Lake Ontario so that we might call on the descendants of his great-uncle George Duguid who lived in Sterling, NY. Sterling is a little town about sixty miles east of Rochester, and north off the main road. He found cousins there and enjoyed an hour's chat with them. We had to retrace our route a short distance, then drove through Fulton to #11, and south to North Syracuse, where Leone and Earl Gowdy live.

 It was getting late, so we stopped for supper before arriving in W. Syracuse where we inquired for Maxwell Street; and upon finding the right number I rang the bell. When a lady opened the door I said, "Are you my cousin Leone?" She laughed and said, "I guess so I might be, Who are you?" I had not seen her since she was four years old. We stayed over night, but had to go on that morning in order to get to Conn. in time for the Reunion. But we were so congenial that we promised to return after the date there.

 They gave us directions for getting onto route #5, which took us to Schenectady. It was neither the shortest route nor the best road, but from Utica it was down the eastern shore of the Mohawk River. It was not what I would call a valley road; for the entire valley was on the opposite shore. There were many very short steep down hills, with rough narrow road close to cliff. For a few miles we enjoyed it, but our pleasure was a great deal greater when we left its banks. Now it is a part of the N. Y. Thruway.

 At Schenectady we chose # 7 through Troy, going through Bennington to Brattleboro, Vermont, where my great-grandfather Roderick Wells was born. In Brattleboro we turned south, not knowing that the New Hampshire line was a few rods east; so we were never in that State. Alice and Nobel had made that extra little drive. They also found in New York where Villenova once was, and visited Baseball's Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.

 Thursday night we slept in a tourist home a few miles south of Brattleboro. Friday we drove through Greenville, and visited the reconstructed village of Deerfield where an Indian massacre occurred years ago. On through the Hatfield town on #5, west side of the Conn. River. The land was quite level and there were tobacco fields and drying sheds. The Wells family lived in this section of Mass. before going to Brattleboro, Vermont. At West Springfie1d we saw Springfield on the east side of the river over a large bridge, but did not cross over. By crossing at Thompsonville a few miles farther south, we found that Hazardville was the next town, and the Willard Gowdy farm five or six miles to the southeast. We stayed at a tourist home Friday night so we arrived at the reunion 10:00 A.M. We met a Gowdy cousin who had married a brother of Prof. John Wells, and lived in Ann Arbor. Aged Mahlon Gowdy, our historian and compiler of the Gowdy genealogy, was present from Plum Beach, Saunderstown, R. I. Emily did not recognize us at first, but we soon made up for the lost time.

 Dennis and I renewed our friendships formed in 1936, and made new ones. Alice, Nobel and Douglas had arrived in the neighborhood the day before. It rained a little after dinner was over, but not enough to spoil the day. We were invited to stay over night, but as Nobel and Alice were starting back we decided to go too, and stay over night at the same place. We all stood out by our cars and talked and talked, so we did not leave until about 5:30 P.M. We drove until we were near Albany, NY before we found rooms under $12.00. We paid $9.00 for two rooms, with an extra cot in one. Sunday morning Alice and Nobel set out for home, while Dennis and I began a leisurely drive to Syracuse. We had a good dinner somewhere, arrived at Earl Gowdy's in the middle of the afternoon.

 Cousin Alta, Earl's step-mother, kept asking me, "now, what relation are you?" And I kept on saying, "Your husband (Herbert Gowdy) and I were own cousins." They had celebrated her ninetieth birthday just recently. Her health was excellent but her memory poor. Her hearing was very good, and she seemed to enjoy our visit. She went everywhere with us, and took no naps.

 Monday morning Earl took us all on a trip about seventy-five miles north, through towns I had heard Mother mention - Adams, Rodman, Copenhagen, and South Champion where she was living with her brother Philo when his twin daughters, Addie and Alice were born. Uncle Philo and Aunt Emmaline (Dunaway) Gowdy, their daughters Olive, and Grandma Gowdy all have their graves in the South Champion Cemetery. Grandpa Bennet Gowdy died while the family lived near North Adams, and was buried in the old country cemetery, whose graves were removed to North Adams Cemetery in the l890's.

 We did not get to Watertown where we have Collins relatives. I don't know names or addresses, to Lowville where there are many descendants of Samuel and Norman Gowdy, Bennet's brothers. There is a cousin in Lowville named J. Clinton Gowdy, whose birthday is the 19th of January, same as mine, but I think he is a year or two older. We met his wife when we were there in 1936, but he was not at home.

 Leone had packed a great big lunch for us so we could eat in a State Park where they liked to picnic. This Park was in its natural state in the foothills of the Adirondacks, but there were picnic tables in the little glade where we ate, and Earl took some snapshots. We drove back mostly on different roads. One was called the "Dugway," and it was just that. We talked of stopping for another picnic lunch, but were not far from N. Syracuse, so decided to go on home and eat it there. Then we had the evening for a last chat, as we were leaving for home the next morning.

 We ran into a severe thunderstorm in eastern New York, and had to stop driving, but being parked by a hotel we ate dinner there, and by that time could drive on. We crossed into Ontario at Buffalo to #3, crossing over to #2 before getting into Windsor, where we drove through the tunnel to Detroit. We turned our time back one-hour, arriving home at 9:00 P.M. It was too long a day's drive, and I, at least, was too tired. But the entire trip was wonderful, and Dennis and I were glad that we went.

 My dear cousin, Nellie Gertrude McConnell of Devil's Lake, was born Oct. 17, 1878, died in a nursing home near Adrian, Oct. 3, 1954. We were very congenial. Nellie loved music, poetry, and flowers. She was buried in North Adams Cemetery beside my sister Susie.

 In 1950 John and Caroline built a new house, just west of Chesaning, 1511 W. Brady. John was appointed postmaster in 1954. J. D. and Joyce Ostrander were married in the Methodist Church, Chesaning, Nov. 30, 1952, before he was sent to San Francisco, Cal. Shirley was bridesmaid, and Donna Mae sang. Donna Mae and Max O'Rourke were married in Detroit, October 6, 1953. Michael Patrick was born August 15, 1954. Otto J. Duguid died of a heart attack April 17, 1955. John has tape recording of J. D.'s wedding. Dennis was there.

 Grace Westcott moved to Chelsea the summer of 1955. Mary Beth and Dick entertained for our 50th Wedding Anniversary on December 25, 1955. Our children were there. Glenn's family, Mary Alice and Douglas, Donna and Max with Mike, and Shirley. We received $50.00 from our children; $25.00 from Dennis' brothers and sisters and $5.00 from the Kings; and other gifts that are listed in a record book, which was also a gift. A mention of our anniversary was made in our church bulletin, and we received many lovely cards.

 Shirley was married on her 21st birthday in Angola, Ind. to Junior Carlton of Chesaning, May 26, 1956. Thomas Arthur Libka was born April 23, 1956. In the summer of 1956 John and Caroline made a trip to Europe with a group from the College in Mt. Pleasant. Timothy Charles O'Rourke was born Aug. 23, 1956, and Dawn Aileen Frank, Oct. 3, 1956.

 Mary Alice Frank and Emil Sieggreen had a church wedding in Saginaw, May 4, 1957. Joan was one of the bridesmaids, and Helen was Matron of Honor. I was not able to go, but Dennis did, and had his picture taken with the bride and groom.

 Junior Carlton and his father, with help from Shirley, were building a new house on Niver Road, south of Chesaning. Ronald Ray was born May 19, 1957, and the new home was completed not many weeks later.

 All the Spring Nobel had suffered some pain in his chest. At last he was persuaded to go into the hospital for a few days. They found his heart was bad, but allowed him to go back to work after a few days of rest at home. July 18th he made a trip to Bad Axe, hot and exhaustive. The next morning they came to Detroit, Douglas driving, in order to meet Cousin Leone from New York State, who was arriving July 20th. They had been here only an hour or two when Nobel had a heart attack, and died immediately. How glad we were that when he arrived Dennis and I had greeted him the "French" way, kissing him on both cheeks.

 The next week we took Leone to North Adams to meet her many cousins, going through Chelsea to pick up Grace. She fell in love with Bessie and Percy, where we stayed each night, and enjoyed meeting them all, and right here, I will say that the feeling was mutual. Grace went back to Detroit with us. We visited Belle Isle, and drove out the Lake Shore. It was like losing a sister when Leone's visit was over. The whole week had been extremely hot.

 John and Caroline visited the New England States with a group from CSTS, during the summer of 1957. Judith Ann Sieggreen was born July 18, 1958. Daniel Emil Sieggreen was born June 25, 1959. Cheryl Ann Carlton arrived Jan. 31, 1959, and Patrick Anthony Libka on Nov. 25, 1959.

 Mr. and Mrs. Harry Rohrback rented our upper flat from June 1950 to Sept. 1955; Mr. and Mrs. Elbert King rented it from October 1955 to Nov. 1959; Mr. and Mrs. Armel Martin, present renters, from Dec. 1959 until Oct. 1961+.

 In March 1956, Dennis had a slight touch of pneumonia. I caught his cold and had hemorrhage after hemorrhage for five days. I was a long time recovering from that. No more running the vacuum sweeper, mopping, sewing, or digging among the flowers. My heart beat so erratically that since 1957 I have taken a mild heart tablet every day, and feel much more comfortable. After I got used to having Dennis at home all day long I enjoyed it very much. We went to Belle Isle often; visited Grace every summer, and our children, and were never bored.

 Earl Gowdy and Leone Trenham drove to Detroit from N. Syracuse in July 1959. This time they saw Greenfield Village and the Ford Museum at Dearborn, and went on to North Adams, where they enjoyed visits with all the cousins. On the way back they visited Chelsea Home, and brought Grace to Detroit with them. Percy and Bessie celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in August and they were so sorry to miss it, so are planning on coming again in 1962 when Arthur and Alice expect to celebrate. They did get up to Chesaning and Saginaw, and met part of our children, grand and great grand.

 Leone Trenham and Earl seem exactly like sister and brother to us. Leone's mother Addie Gowdy and Earl's father Herbert Gowdy were own cousins to me, my mother and their grandfather Philo being sister and brother. Patrick Anthony Libka was born Nov. 25, 1959.

 The Duguids met for Thanksgiving 1959 with Glenn's family in Drayton Plains, and for once I was able to attend, and enjoyed it greatly. Dennis was bothered with a morning cough most of the winter, and in March of 1960 began having a lot of trouble with his bad kidney, although he missed only two night's bowling in his League.

 In April we brought Grace from Chelsea to see the Easter flowers at Belle Isle, and she was here about two weeks. Jill Annette Sieggreen was born June 9, 1960, Dick, Mary Beth and family had a nice trip to the Kewenaw Peninsula in the summer, and later Dick and Mary repeated some of the trip.

 We were invited to a get-together of the Wells's brothers and sisters at Percy and Bessie's, on August 27, 1960. Cousin's Harry and Ruby Gowdy were there also. Dennis did not feel like going, so Mary Beth planned to take me just for the day. When she arrived, Dennis couldn't resist going along. He lay down most of the time we were there, but enjoyed the dinner, and had his picture taken with the rest, and was glad he went although he felt worse the next day. When he got better he played golf, and bowled four times during September.

 Here is a paragraph I wrote during the summer: "Dennis has bowled for years and played some golf. Now for three or four years his friends have been retiring. They bowl twice a week, play eighteen holes of golf twice a week all summer and fall, and they have worn him out, Dennis being ten years older than they are. He once enjoyed mowing and watering the lawn, and shopping for groceries. Now he dreads it; and as for mopping vacuuming, he just 'ain't there'."

 Mayme was here a few days in August or September. By October Dennis was lying down most of the time and getting weak, and also fainting occasionally. At last he decided to have the kidney removed, as the doctor advised. He entered Bon Secours Hospital Oct. 26th. He wrote for an Absentee's Ballot, and voted in the November 8th Election. After four days and two blood transfusions, they operated on Oct. 31st, giving two more blood transfusions. Dick gave his blood, but Mary Beth found that neither she nor Alice could give theirs because they had had yellow jaundice. He came through the operation very well, losing an enlarged three-pound kidney with several dime sized stones. He came home Nov. 7th and gained every day, dressed and walked around some; and how he did enjoy the cards and letters he received; and the callers.

 On November 12th Dennis was eighty years old. The next day, Sunday, John and Caroline brought him a birthday cake, and ate dinner with us. Monday he did not feel so well, and I called our Doctor. He came each day for a week as Dennis continued to fail. He had pained four pounds, and had a good appetite, but he often coughed and choked while eating, but he was out in the living-room part of each day until Saturday. He was worse in the night and I had lost so much sleep that on Friday morning I called Mary Beth to help me nights. She had often been here days, but now she came and stayed. Alice and John had been here too, while he was in the hospital.

 Dennis did not eat much dinner Sunday, the 20th. Dick came over, and about the same time, Mr. and Mrs. Upson. Dennis didn't feel like talking, but said, "I want to see Dick." When I asked him, after Dick came out, if he wouldn't see Mr. Upson a minute, as he was an old friend and had come clear across Detroit to call on him, he agreed. We told Mr. Upson "just five minutes." He stayed longer because Dennis kept talking and talking. Then he came out saying Dennis had begun to shake; which had happened before. I got the hot water bottle and more coverings, and he felt better.

 Then the Doctor came and had him sit up so he could check his lungs. We both had to hold him up, and he was half-uncovered. The Doctor rushed to the phone and called an ambulance, and told me he was sending Dennis to St. Mary's Nursing Home on Nine-Mile Road, but they would stop at Bon Secours Hospital for a chest x-ray.

 The men arrived in no time, and came in the bedroom while I was telling Dennis the doctor's orders. He did not say a word, but I think he understood. Mary Beth went with the ambulance while I packed his bag, and Dick and I followed. But he was unconscious when we saw him at the Home. They said he had a bad time in the night, but they gave him oxygen, and pulled him through. He was only semiconscious and talked only about how the nurse had taped his wrist to the bedside, so the needle wouldn't get pulled out.

 He just took us all for granted; John too, who came each day about three o'clock and stayed until ten. Tuesday morning they told us they thought Dennis could not move his left leg. We were there early, but could not see him for an hour or so. They had a urine bag hanging from the bedside, but nothing was draining into it, for the other kidney had ceased to function.

 The nurses fed him strained food, and let us help, but he choked and coughed out nearly all he was fed, even juices and milk or water. And almost all the time he was getting the solution feeding. He talked about the nails in the doors, but it was just rambling, but mostly he just breathed heavily.

 Mary and I left at 5:00 P.M. to get some supper. John was to stay until we got back about 6:30. I kissed Dennis, and said, "Kiss me", and he pressed his lips faintly to my cheek. Then I said to John, "Now you hold his hand." About six o'clock our phone rang. Mary Beth answered. It was John saying that Papa had left us. John said he was holding his hand, and he just stopped breathing, swallowed once, and was gone. I asked if we might see him before they took him away. They gave permission, and we drove right out there. He lay in bed, looking rested and so natural, our Papa, peacefully sleeping. November 22, 1960.

 Death comes, but life goes on. I am sustained by thanking God each day, and many times a day, for the many wonderful years through which we journeyed together; and for our children and families that we love so dearly. Our good neighbors and friends are very numerous also, and we give thanks for them. Special thanks to our Church and Minister.

 This writing began in response to Mary Beth's request that I make a list of all the places where her father and I had resided since our marriage. She little knew what a torrent of words would be released, nor did we know that it would end in a fountain of tears. With her weekly help, and Dick's thoughtful kindness, I am enabled to remain in our home at 1275 Philip Avenue, Detroit 15, Michigan. Dennis having put in gas heat three years ago.

 Late Bulletin: Jeffrey Ray Carlton born January 17, 1961.

Bertha Wells

 Written between the years of

January 1954- February 1961.