e necessary thing,
not being awake in church.

It was a joyous and wholesome two years, the kind that thousands of
Mississippi Valley farms have given to hundreds of thousands of American
little boys; the kind that gives them a good start in health and
happiness towards a sturdy and simple adolescent life. But the time had
come for young Herbert to learn new surroundings. For some reason,
apparently not clearly remembered now, it was decided by the consulting
uncles and aunts that young Herbert should go to Oregon, and join the
Hoover and Minthorn relatives there. Perhaps, even probably, it was
because of the presumably superior educational advantages of Oregon in
the existence of the Newberg Pacific Academy that led to the decision.
We may imagine that Herbert uttered no affirmative vote in the conclave
that decided on his departure from the Iowa farm, and when he once got
out to the superior place, he was less than ever in favor of the
proceeding. But the conscientious uncles and aunts were inexorable as
the Fates.

They meant to be the kindest of Fates, of course. They knew that they
knew so much better than the little boy what was best for him. And
probably they did. But this little pawn on the chessboard of life, moved
about with ever so excellent intention by firm and confident hands, must
have thought sometimes that he would have liked to have some little part
in deciding these moves. But if one starts as pawn, one must find the
way as pawn clear across the board to the king row before one can come
to the higher estate of the nobler pieces.

The actual going from Iowa to far-away Oregon was not so unbearable,
because of the excitement of the tremendous journey and the actual fun
of it. It was not made, to be sure, as Herbert would have preferred it,
in a long train of picturesque prairie schooners, drawn up in a circle
each night to repel attacking Indians, as his storybooks described all
transcontinental journeys; but in an overfull tourist-car on the
railroad. Herbert's most vivid memories of the week's journey are of the
wonderful lunch baskets and boxes filled with fried chicken, boiled
hams, roast meats, countless pies and layer-cakes, caraway-seed cookies,
and great red apples. Herbert Hoover had no food troubles in those
days!

Arrived in Oregon he found himself in the family of Uncle John Minthorn,
his mother's brother, a country doctor of Newberg, and the principal of
the superior educational instit