f friends, and, launching out
into the lumber business, soon became one of the prosperous and solid
citizens of the place. His house was on the "Circle," next door to
Henry Ward Beecher's church. This was Mr. Beecher's first pastorate,
and between him and his neighbour a warm friendship sprang up. In
after years, when Beecher had become a national figure and scandal
attacked his name, the friend of his youth, Jacob Van de Grift, clung
loyally to his faith in his old pastor and firmly refused to believe
any of the charges against him.

The little house on the Circle was made into a pleasant home partly by
furniture sent by Jacob's mother from Philadelphia, partly by articles
made by himself, for he had served a short apprenticeship at
cabinet-making while living in his grandfather's house. Among other
pieces of furniture made by him was the cradle in which Fanny Van de
Grift was rocked. As long as she lived she never forgot just how this
cradle looked.

Jacob Van de Grift, father of Fanny Van de Grift Stevenson, was a
fine-looking man, broad-shouldered and deep-chested, slightly above
medium height, blue-eyed, black-haired, and with the regular features
and rosy complexion of his Dutch ancestors. One particularly noticed
the extraordinarily keen expression of his eyes, which seemed to pin
you to the wall when he looked at you. This penetrating glance was
inherited by his daughter Fanny, and was often remarked upon by those
who met her. He made money easily but spent it royally, and, in
consequence, died comparatively poor. He had a hasty temper but a
generous heart, and while his hand was always open to the poor and
unhappy, it was a closed fist ready to strike straight from the
shoulder to resent an insult or defend the oppressed. Like his
ancestor of the Andalusia cemetery, he could not endure to owe any man
a debt. It was from our father that my sister Fanny inherited her
broad and tolerant outlook on life, her hatred of injustice and
cruelty, her punctiliousness in money matters, and her steadfast
loyalty to friends.

CHAPTER II

EARLY DAYS IN INDIANA.

When Jacob Van de Grift arrived in Indianapolis in 1836 the first
rawness of frontier life had passed away, and many of the comforts of
civilization had made their way out from the East or up from New
Orleans. When he married Esther Keen he took her to live in the little
red house, which, as I have already said, he had built next door to
Henry Ward Bee