My father told often of his early life in Vermont. They were very poor, his father being a hunter of game, rather than the head of the family. But when my father and his brothers came to manhood, things began to be financially better. The boys planted crops of potatoes and were generally successful with their farming. The best of all was that he grew up with very strict ideas of honor and integrity. He was a good father to Sullie and me. He has taken me in his arms dozens of times, telling me that he thanked the Lord for me. He never chastised, even when it seemed he ought to do so, but contented himself with a verbal chastising.

For instance he always kept a keg of whiskey under the bed. At one corner of the room under the further corner of the bed, there was a "Cat hole." My brother George commenced to throw his saddles, straps and other boyish treasures under the bed, and while there rummaging among his things could draw a pint cupful of whiskey and shove it out to some of his pals outside. He would then come out and go down into the willows and drink it. One time my father happened to be outside and saw the cupful handed out. When he saw George come out, knowing the conditions as given, he only said, "George, you are a whale to drink whiskey."

He loved my mother with unfeigned love, and was never tired of making things or doing all possible for her comfort. He made an arm chair with the back carved exactly to fit her shoulders. His devotion to my "stately mother," as she was lately called by one who knew her, was unlimited.

Not long after the birth of my brother, Sullie, 26th of January 1861, my parents moved back to Springville, Utah County. My parents had two older children who had been born in the states, previous to my parents having heard the true Gospel. Their names were Emma Lynette, born 30 October 1841, in New York; and George Alvin, born 4 September, 1846. Father, mother, and sister Emma appear in an old manual—a record of the East Hebron Presbyterian Church.