ution. Uncle John did not live on a farm,
but on the edge of a small town, which was a mistake, according to
Herbert's way of looking at it. And the Pacific Academy of Newberg,
Oregon, could not be compared in interest with the district village
school of West Branch, Iowa.

After two or three years of life with Dr. John, young Herbert was handed
over to the care of a Grandfather Miles, for Dr. John decided to give up
country doctoring in order to go into the land business "down in Salem,"
the capital city. Therefore, as little Herbert's schooling in the
academy which he was attending all the time he was living with Dr. John,
could not be interrupted, he was placed in the home of this Grandfather
Miles on a farm just on the edge of the academy town.

Herbert's life with Grandfather Miles does not seem to have been a very
happy one, for the old gentleman did not believe in spoiling little
boys by too much kindness. There were many chores to do before and after
school, and little time for playing. And the chores just had to be done,
and not be forgotten as they sometimes were. Probably this strictness of
discipline was a good thing for the small boy. But, like other small
boys, he did not like it. So, also, like many other small boys, he
decided to run away.

Running away may not be the exclusive prerogative of young Americans,
but some way it is hard for me to picture European boys of fourteen
going off on their own. And yet perhaps they do. At any rate it is such
a favorite procedure with us that hardly one of us--I mean by us,
American males--has not had a try at it or connived at some neighbor's
son trying it. My own experience was only that of a conniver. A
schoolmate of thirteen, whose father believed in a more vigorous method
of correcting wayward sons than my father did, ran away from his house
to as far as our house. There my brother and I secreted him in a
clothes-closet for the nearly three hours of freedom that he enjoyed in
half-smothered state. Then the stern father came over, discovered him
and haled him away to proper discipline. I shall never forget the howls
of the captured fugitive, nor the triumphant and accusing remark to us,
shouted by the terrible capturer as he dragged off his victim: "Now ye
see what liars ye are!" For, of course, we had done our impotent best to
throw the hunter off the track. It was several days before I could lie
again without a violent trembling.

But Herbert Hoover ran awa