out on that Missouri trip four years ago. He was
old then--though not quite so old as I--and the burden of life was upon
him. He said his granddaughter, twelve years old, had read my books and
would like to see me. It was a pathetic time, for she was a prisoner in
her room and marked for death. And John knew that she was passing
swiftly away. Twelve years old--just her grandfather's age when he rode
away on that great journey with his yellow hair flapping behind him. In
her I seemed to see that boy again. It was as if he had come back out of
that remote past and was present before me in his golden youth. Her
malady was heart disease, and her brief life came to a close a few days
later.

Another of those schoolboys was John Garth. He became a prosperous
banker and a prominent and valued citizen; and a few years ago he died,
rich and honored. _He died._ It is what I have to say about so many of
those boys and girls. The widow still lives, and there are
grandchildren. In her pantalette days and my barefoot days she was a
schoolmate of mine. I saw John's tomb when I made that Missouri visit.

Her father, Mr. Kercheval, had an apprentice in the early days when I
was nine years old, and he had also a slave woman who had many merits.
But I can't feel very kindly or forgivingly toward either that good
apprentice boy or that good slave woman, for they saved my life. One day
when I was playing on a loose log which I supposed was attached to a
raft--but it wasn't--it tilted me into Bear Creek. And when I had been
under water twice and was coming up to make the third and fatal descent
my fingers appeared above the water and that slave woman seized them and
pulled me out. Within a week I was in again, and that apprentice had to
come along just at the wrong time, and he plunged in and dived, pawed
around on the bottom and found me, and dragged me out and emptied the
water out of me, and I was saved again. I was drowned seven times after
that before I learned to swim--once in Bear Creek and six times in the
Mississippi. I do not now know who the people were who interfered with
the intentions of a Providence wiser than themselves, but I hold a
grudge against them yet. When I told the tale of these remarkable
happenings to Rev. Dr. Burton of Hartford, he said he did not believe
it. _He slipped on the ice the very next year and sprained his ankle._

Will Bowen was another schoolmate, and so was his brother, Sam, who was
his junior by a