more in
business. Said James Oliver, "Man's first business was to till the soil;
his last business will be to till the soil; I help the farmer to do his
work, and for my product there will always be a demand."

* * * * *

James Oliver had no fear of death. He had an abiding faith that the
Power that cared for him here would never desert him there. He looked
upon death as being as natural as life and probably just as good. For
the quibbles of theology he had small patience. "Live right here--wait,
and we shall know," he used to say.

When his wife died, in Nineteen Hundred Two, he bore the blow like a
Spartan. Fifty-eight years had they journeyed together. She was a woman
of great good sense, and a very handsome woman, even in her old age. Her
husband had always depended on her, telling her his plans and thus
clarifying them in his own mind. They were companions, friends, chums,
lovers--man and wife. After her death he redoubled his activities, and
fought valiantly to keep from depressing the household with the grief
that was gnawing at his heart.

A year passed, and one day he said to his son, "Joe, I do miss your
mother awfully--but then, I'll not have to endure this loneliness
forever!"

And this was as near a sign of weakness as he ever showed.

James Oliver was a successful man, but it was not always smooth sailing.
In the early days, the Plow Plant caught fire at night and was
absolutely consumed. Returning home at three o'clock in the morning,
exhausted, and with clothing wet and frozen in a sheet of ice, this man,
sorely kicked by an unkind Fate, turned a chair over on the floor before
the fireplace, and reclining on it there with eyes closed, endeavored
to forget the trying scenes of the night.

Mrs. Oliver had made coffee and prepared a simple breakfast for the
tired man. But rest was never for her or her family when there was
pressing work demanding attention. "James, why are you wasting time?
Drink this coffee, put on these dry clothes and go at once before
daylight and order lumber and brick so the men can begin at seven
o'clock to rebuild. We have orders to fill!" And the man arousing
himself obeyed the command. At seven o'clock the lumber was on the
ground and the men were at work preparing to rebuild.

James Oliver was a man of courage, but his patience, persistency and
unfaltering faith were largely the reflection of his wife's soul and
brain. When seventy years