nt for
work and succeeded in getting a job at the compress, where they reduced
the size of a bale of cotton by one-half and clipped the tires. My job
was to straighten out the bent tires. I got twenty-five cents a day for
this. That week I made one dollar and fifty cents. This was the most
money I had ever had. I spent almost all of it for provisions and that
night my sister cooked a great supper. Finally, my father said that he
would save my wages for me, but if he did he has it still, as I never
have seen any that he collected.

I had not been in Selma long before I was taken ill. That misfortune
changed my whole life. I had no medical attendance and suffered
greatly. Sometimes I prayed and sometimes I cried. The news reached Snow
Hill that I was sick and not being cared for. As soon as she could, my
aunt Rina came to Selma for me and carried me home.

On my return to Snow Hill I was sick and emaciated, but few people
welcomed me. Many tried to discourage my aunt for bringing me back. They
gave me about three months to live. I was glad to be at home again and
had the consolation of knowing that should I die I would be buried in
the old burying ground.

I was unable at the time to do any work on the farm, so I was put to the
task of raising chickens. I took personal interest in the little chicks.
I had a name for each one of them. I would follow them around the yard
and see them work for their food. When I was weary of this I would go to
an old deserted cabin nearby, taking a few old books and the Bible;
there unmolested I would spend hours at a time reading the Bible and
pondering over the books. One of the books was an old Davies' Practical
Arithmetic. Nothing gave me more pleasure than working out new sums for
the first time. I kept up this practice until I had read the New
Testament through several times and had worked every problem in the
arithmetic. In addition to this I would gather up wood and carry it home
for the people to cook with.

My aunt and her daughter were very poor and had to work each day for
what they could get to eat. It pained me because I could not go out and
work for something to eat as I had done in Selma. I never ate a full
meal although my aunt and her daughter insisted upon my doing so; I felt
that I had no right to eat up what they had worked so hard to get, while
I was doing nothing that was worth while. My aunt's daughter had a son
who was one month older than I; he was well grown fo