perishable curiosity that was in
him made him scurry at once to the house to solve it. I have known him
to spend a planting season in figuring on the production of a certain
number of kernels of corn, instead of planting the corn and raising
it. In the winter he was supposed to spend his time clearing land for
orchards and the like, but instead he pored over his books and problems
day after day and often half the night as well. It soon became known
among our neighbors, who were rapidly increasing in number, that we had
books and that father like to read aloud, and men walked ten miles or
more to spend the night with us and listen to his reading. Often, as his
fame grew, ten or twelve men would arrive at our cabin on Saturday and
remain over Sunday. When my mother once tried to check this influx of
guests by mildly pointing out, among other things, the waste of candles
represented by frequent all-night readings, every man humbly appeared
again on the following Saturday with a candle in each hand. They were
not sensitive; and, as they had brought their candles, it seemed fitting
to them and to father that we girls should cook for them and supply them
with food.

Father's tolerance of idleness in others, however, did not extend to
tolerance of idleness in us, and this led to my first rebellion, which
occurred when I was fourteen. For once, I had been in the woods all day,
buried in my books; and when I returned at night, still in the dream
world these books had opened to me, father was awaiting my coming with
a brow dark with disapproval. As it happened, mother had felt that day
some special need of me, and father reproached me bitterly for being
beyond reach--an idler who wasted time while mother labored. He ended
a long arraignment by predicting gloomily that with such tendencies I
would make nothing of my life.

The injustice of the criticism cut deep; I knew I had done and was doing
my share for the family, and already, too, I had begun to feel the call
of my career. For some reason I wanted to preach--to talk to people,
to tell them things. Just why, just what, I did not yet know--but I had
begun to preach in the silent woods, to stand up on stumps and address
the unresponsive trees, to feel the stir of aspiration within me.

When my father had finished all he wished to say, I looked at him and
answered, quietly, "Father, some day I am going to college."

I can still see his slight, ironical smile. It drove me to a