here the sight of those trees in the park remind me of old Ozark's grand
forests. I like to think of those old scenes, and by the way, wife, come
to think about it, it is three years this month since we were down home
on a visit. It doesn't seem possible that it is so long. We get so
absorbed with our business here in this big wicked city that the years
flit by like dreams and we do not realize how long we have been away. I
should like to take a stroll this morning along the old creek where we
boys used to swim. I'd like to visit the old schoolhouse in the walnut
grove where we used to spend so many idle hours. Three years ago when we
were down there I visited that old schoolhouse. It looked just about
like it did twenty-five or thirty years ago, when you and I were there.
I sat on the old limestone rock beneath the old locust-tree where we
used to play dare base. The old play ground is just the same. There was
the ballground where we used to play 'town ball.' The same old stone was
there that we used for second base."

As Harry Benton thus spoke his wife and children listened intently, and
when the meal was finished and the Bible was brought for the morning
worship, the whole family was in a serious frame of mind. Benton went on
to say, "And when we talk of home scenes, I always think of father and
his godly influence upon my life. As I look across the years, I see
myself an ignorant awkward country boy; but there is one thing for which
I shall always thank my God, and that is that I was blessed with a
Christian father. Throughout the years his saintly life has been a
benediction to me. The most sacred picture that hangs on the wall of my
memory is that of my father with the big family Bible on his lap and all
the children gathered around him and Mother for the worship of his God.
Well do I remember when he used to pray for us, naming us out one by one
and asking God to make us useful men and women. And oh, how he used to
be persecuted by the Mount Olivet people. Well do I remember how one
morning when Father was on his way to milk your father's cows he was met
by Deacon Gramps, who beat him so shamefully. That night in family
worship Father prayed so fervently and asked God to forgive Gramps and
save him from his wicked ways. The impressions I received during those
stirring days never will leave me. I tell you, Eva, it meant something
for Father to stand true as he did, and I think heaven will be
especially sweet to th