was not thought to be
a disgrace for a boy to be "bound out" until he was twenty-one,
especially if he was to be learning a trade. Father took a notion he
would bind me out to a Mr. Arthens, the mill owner at Lockland, who was
childless, and one day he took me with him to talk it over. When asked,
finally, how I should like the change, I promptly replied that it would
be all right if Mrs. Arthens would "do up my sore toes," whereupon
there was such an outburst of merriment that I never forgot it. We must
remember that boys in those days did not wear shoes in summer, and quite
often not in winter either. But mother put an end to the whole matter by
saying that the family must not be divided, and it was not.

Our pioneer home was full of love and helpfulness. My mother expected
each child to work as well as to play. We were trained to take our part
at home. The labor was light, to be sure, but it was service, and it
brought happiness into our lives. For, after all, that home is happiest
where every one helps.

Our move to Indiana was a very important event in my boyhood days. This
move was made during the autumn of 1839, when I was nine years old. I
vividly remember the trip, for I walked every step of the way from
Lockland, Ohio, to Attica, Indiana, about two hundred miles.

There was no room in the heavily laden wagon for me or for my brother
Oliver, aged eleven. It was piled so high with household goods that
little space was left even for mother and the two babies, one yet in
arms. But we lads did not mind riding on "Shank's ponies."

The horses walked so briskly that we had to stick to business to keep up
with them. We did find time, though, to throw a few stones at the frisky
squirrels, or to kill a garter snake, or to gather some flowers for
mother and the little ones, or to watch the redheaded woodpeckers
hammering at the trees. The journey was full of interest for two lively
boys.

Our appearance was what might well be called primitive, for we went
barefooted and wore "tow pants" and checkered "linsey-woolsey" shirts,
with a strip of cloth for "galluses," as suspenders were at that time
called. Little did we think or care about appearance, bent as we were
on having a good time--and that we surely had.

[Illustration: On the corduroy road.]

One dreary stretch of swamp that kept us on the corduroy road behind the
jolting wagon I remember well; this was near Crawfordsville, Indiana. It
is now gone, the cordu