ounty, New York, in 1815; died Madison,
Wisconsin, October 19, 1854. Erected to her memory by her son, Jacob T.
Vandemark." So I cut the name of Rucker from our family record; but, of
course, he never knew.

Then the doctor took me back to the tavern, trying to persuade me on the
way to locate in Madison. He had some vacant lots he wanted to show me;
and said that he and a company of friends had laid out new towns at half
a dozen different places in Wisconsin, and even in Minnesota and Iowa.
Before we got back he saw, though I tried to be civil, that I was not
thinking about what he was saying, and so he let me think in peace; but
he shook hands with me kindly at parting, and wished I could have got
there in September.

"Things might have been different," said he. "You're a darned good boy;
and if you'll stay here till spring I'll get you a job."

2

There was no fire in my room, and it was cold; so there was no place to
sit except in the barroom, which I found deserted but for one man, when
I went back and sat down to think over my future. Should I go back to
the canal? I hated to do this, though all my acquaintances were there,
and the work was of the sort I had learned to do best; besides, here I
was in the West, and all the opportunities of the West were before me,
though it looked cold and dreary just now, and no great chances seemed
lying about for a boy like me. I was perplexed. I had lost my desire for
revenge on Rucker; and just then I felt no ambition, and saw no light. I
was ready, I suppose, to begin a life of drifting; this time with no
aim, not even a remote one--for my one object in life had vanished. But
something in the way of guidance always has come to me at such times;
and it came now. The one man who was in the bar when I came in got up,
and moving over by me, sat down in a chair by my side.

"Cold day," said he.

I agreed, and looked him over carefully. He was a tall man who wore a
long black Prince Albert coat which came down below his knees, a broad
felt hat, and no overcoat. He looked cold, and rather shabby; but he
talked with a good deal of style, and used many big words.

"Stranger here?" he asked.

I admitted that I was.

"May I offer," said he, "the hospitalities of the city in the form of a
hot whisky toddy?"

I thanked him and asked to be excused.

"Your name," he ventured, after clearing his throat, "is Vandemark."

Then I looked at him still more sharply. How did he know