sought an opportunity, when the mistress of the house could not
hear him, to say in a low tone, "If thee can do any better, thee had
better let out the word."

My father, though a miller by trade, early taught me some valuable
lessons about farming that I never forgot. We--I say "we" advisedly, as
father continued to work in the mill and left me in charge of the
farm--soon brought the run-down farm to the point where it produced
twenty-three bushels of wheat to the acre instead of ten, by the
rotation of corn and clover and then wheat. But there was no money in
farming at the prices then prevailing, and the land for which father
paid ten dollars an acre would not yield a rental equal to the interest
on the money. The same land has recently sold for six hundred dollars an
acre.

For a time I worked in the _Journal_ printing office for S. V. B. Noel,
who published a Free Soil paper. A part of my duty was to deliver the
papers to subscribers. They treated me civilly, but when I was caught in
the streets of Indianapolis with the Free Soil papers in my hand I was
sure of abuse from some one, and a number of times narrowly escaped
personal violence from the pro-slavery people.

In the office I was known as the "devil," a term that annoyed me not a
little. I worked with Wood, the pressman, as a roller boy, and in the
same room was a power press, the power being a stalwart negro who turned
a crank. Wood and I used to race with the power press, and then I would
fly the sheets,--that is, take them off, when printed, with one hand and
roll the type with the other. This so pleased Noel that he advanced my
wages to a dollar and a half a week.

One of the subscribers to whom I delivered that anti-slavery paper was
Henry Ward Beecher, then pastor of the Congregational Church that faced
the Governor's Circle. At that time he had not attained the fame that
came to him later in life. I became attached to him because of his kind
manner and the gentle words he always found time to give me.

[Illustration: Carrying papers to Henry Ward Beecher.]

One episode of my life at this time I remember because I thought my
parents were in the wrong. Vocal music was taught in singing school,
which was conducted almost as regularly as were the day schools. I was
passionately fond of music. Before the change of my voice came I had a
fine alto voice and was a leader in my part of the class. This fact
coming to the notice of the trustees of Beecher'