de of my nature I inherit from my dear, devoted mother--my highest
ideal of all that is good, lovely and angelic in woman. Sadly and often
have I missed her loving tenderness, her watchful care, her beautiful
smile. The shadowy Angel of Death claimed her and bore her from my sight
when I was but four years old. Young as I was at that time, this
beautiful world has never seemed quite so bright to me since.

"My father, Fayette Flagg, was a noble man of sterling worth. He
belonged to a class of thrifty, hard-working, pioneer farmers, on the
broad, fertile prairies of the state of Nebraska. Until the death of my
mother he was happy and prosperous, hopeful, helpful and brave. After
that great blow came to him, he recovered slowly, as from a long, severe
illness and never again was quite so courageous and strong, or as
hopeful as before.

"With the advent of the last decade of the nineteenth century a feeling
of foreboding unrest seemed to brood over the western farmer: blight and
drouth destroyed his best crops just when they seemed to promise most;
farm stock had to be reduced. The good years were few, the bad years
were many. The great strain of carrying a large outfit of expensive
agricultural machinery which on a small farm could be used with profit
only from ten to forty days in the year, began to be felt. The debts,
incurred by the purchase of the machinery, were growing steadily larger.
With each renewal of the mortgage on the farm, came the demand for a
bonus and a higher rate of interest. Meanwhile the price of land and of
all farm products kept on falling, falling steadily year after year.
Only taxes and freight rates from farm to market kept up. High rates of
interest and of freight swallowed up everything and seemed to accelerate
the terrible shrinkage of values. My father found, to his amazement,
that his farm was now mortgaged for more than it would sell for under
the hammer. He gave up the struggle in despair. The savings of a
lifetime, his health, strength and courage all exhausted; his homestead
and farm sold from under him; he lost all hope and in a few short weeks
died, a broken-hearted man. I went to him a few months before the end: I
tried all in my power to save him, but alas! I could do nothing but bury
his body beside that of my mother and come away, filled with the
determination of solving the most difficult problem of a lifetime--a
problem that lies at the very foundation of the permanency of this