Missouri Country Life Conference. 165 



neighbor's sons and daughters, to elevate them and let them 

 know that their duty in life is toward high ideals and good 

 citizenship. I guess I am transgressing, going over my time, 

 but I wish I had an opportunity to talk to you longer just 

 along these lines. There are so many touching things in my 

 life on the farm and in the country that I would like to tell you. 



I have not time to go into detail, but in the crude, simple life 

 that I lived I want to tell you one of the little incidents and the 

 sequel to it. 



When I was a little boy, seven years of age, I went to a 

 neighbor's house, to the home of a poor widow, to stay all night 

 with her son. When I got there she had some ducks and I was 

 very much impressed with the ducks. I was very anxious to 

 make a trade with her, to get a duck. She said to me, "No, I 

 cannot sell you my ducks, but if you will bring me some fresh 

 hen eggs I will trade you some duck eggs for them and you can 

 hatch your ducks." I went, childlike, the next morning — I 

 could hardly wait — went and gathered up the few eggs I could 

 fmd. I walked three-quarters of a mile to make the trade. I 

 had seven hen eggs and she traded me seven duck eggs. Seven 

 ducks were hatched. In a little while I traded my ducks for a 

 pig; I traded my pig for a calf; I traded my calf for a colt. Later 

 I sold the colt and it brought me my first hundred dollars. 

 Now, the point in this story is that you must interest your 

 children in your life on the farm; let them have some farm 

 associations in their memories; let them plant their trees. Even 

 the little girl wants to plant a tree, and let it be her tree. Nothing 

 brings more sacred, tender memories to children than the 

 memories of the things they did on the farm. I was telling a 

 gentleman last night that when a boy I had planted trees, nearly 

 forty years ago, dug the holes and planted them myself, and now 

 they are great big trees, and while I do not even own the prop- 

 erty, but when I go by there I stop and look. I have a love for 

 the place simply because of the memory of those trees. 



But I am going away from the old lady. I returned to 

 that neighborhood about a year ago, and to one of the old people 

 who had lived in the country mentioned this old lady's name. 

 My brother told me, "Why, she is still alive and she is down 

 here," mentioning a place about twenty-five miles away. "Well," 

 I said, "I must go to see her." We drove over to see the old 

 lady, and I never made a visit that did me more good. The 

 poor old soul took my hand between hers and cried like her 



