readers will be glad to read what Henry has
to say of their joint school-life. I quote from the account of an
interview held with a correspondent of the Boston _Herald_, bearing the
date of September 23, 1881:

When General Garfield was nominated to the Presidency his old neighbors
in Orange erected a flag-staff where the house stood which Garfield and
his brother erected for their mother and sisters with their own hands,
after the log hut, a little farther out in the field nearer the wood,
had become unfit for habitation. Thomas Garfield, the uncle of the
President, who not long since was killed by a railroad accident,
directed the manual labor of rearing the shaft, and was proud of his
work.

There is nothing except this hole left to mark his birth-place, and the
old well, not two rods off, which he and his brother dug to furnish
water for the family. In the little maple grove to the left, children
played about the school-house where the dead President first gathered
the rudiments upon which he built to such purpose. The old orchard in
its sere and yellow leaf, the dying grass, and the turning maple leaves
seemed to join in the great mourning.

Adjoining the field where the flag floats is an unpretentious home,
almost as much identified with Gen. Garfield's early history as the one
he helped to clear of the forest timber while he was yet but a child. It
is the home of Henry B. Boynton, cousin of the dead President, and a
brother of Dr. Boynton, whose name has become so well known from recent
events.

"While rambling over this place the correspondent came upon this near
relative of Garfield, smaller in stature than he was, but in features
bearing a striking resemblance to him.

"General Garfield and I were like brothers," he said, as he turned from
giving some directions to his farm hands, now sowing the fall grain upon
ground which his cousin had first helped to break. "His father died
yonder, within a stone's throw of us, when the son was but a year and a
half old. He knew no other father than mine, who watched over the family
as if it had been his own. This very house in which I live was as much
his home as it was mine.

"Over there," said he, pointing to the brick school-house in the grove
of maples, around which the happy children were playing, "is where he
and I both started for school. I have read a statement that he could not
read or write until he was nineteen. He could do both before he was
nine, and