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CHAPTER X
MOVING
TO
NORFOLK--TURNED
OUT OF DOORS BY A
BROTHER IN THE
CHURCH--THE
DEATH OF OUR
BABE--LIVING IN
THE HOUSE WITH A
BAD
FAMILY--THE
GRASSHOPPERS
AGAIN--THE
FUEL WE
BURNED--DRAWING
WOOD BY
HAND-OUR
PRESIDING ELDER
GOES EAST
AND SOLICITS
AID FOR THE
PEOPLE--OUR
WORK IN THE
HARVEST-FIELD--I GO
TO
CONFERENCE--ORDAINED
ELDER--RETURN
TO
NORFOLK--OUR
EXPERIENCE ON THE
CHARGE THE
SECOND
YEAR.
AS THERE were no
railroads running through this country to Norfolk, our new field
of labor, we hired a brother to take our goods through with a
team, and I took my wife and children in the buggy. Before
starting to our new field, our presiding elder instructed us to go
to a Brother G., about two miles from the town where we were to
make our home. Here, he said, we would find a Methodist home,
where we could stay until ready to go to keeping house. With Mrs.
Wells in poor health and a sick babe, we traveled three days
through the mud and cold, hoping to find a welcome when at our
journey's end. On reaching Norfolk late in the
236
afternoon, we met a local preacher, who kindly directed us to
Brother G.'s house, which the presiding elder had recommended to
us as a home until our goods should arrive. Late in the evening,
cold and hungry and with a sick child, we called at Brother G.'s,
made ourselves known, and were very coolly invited into the house.
On first arriving, we found that Brother G. was not at home, and
thought, perhaps, when he arrived, our reception would be
different. He soon came home from his work, but, instead of
bringing sunshine with him, the clouds were thicker and blacker
than ever. He gave us no encouragement whatever, but by his
actions made us understand that we were not welcome, even to the
circuit, much less to his home. The meal being ready, we were
invited to the dining room, where we ate our supper alone. After
we were done, and had left the room, the family sat down and ate.
We consoled ourselves somewhat by the thought that, in the
morning, it would be different; but in the morning we sat down to
breakfast alone, and the family ate theirs, as before. This was
not done because of the want of room or the need of dishes,
for
they had an abundance of both; but it was done to make it
appear that we were a great burden on their hands. The lady of the
house claimed to be unwell, and not able to do the work. Mrs.
Wells offered to help about the housework; but the good sister, by
her actions, gave her to understand that she did n't want any of
her help. Though Brother G. was looked upon as one of the leading
Methodists of that country, he gave no word of encouragement
regarding the work, and said, "There is no house where you can
live; neither is there any chance for a support on the charge."
Though young in the ministry, I had gone through too many rough
places to be backed down in this way. But for my wife and
children, I should have gone to a barn or haystack and slept,
rather than staid over night where I was not welcome. I did just
such a thing as that when a boy. One time father was holding a
series of meetings in a little town about twelve miles from home,
which my brothers and I were allowed to attend. On going home with
a family to spend the night, I felt that we were not welcome, and
determined not to stay. So I took my hat, and went to the
barn, climbed on top of a hay-shed in the open air, and rested
there until morning. I would rather do the same now than stay
where I am not wanted. We had passed through too many hardships to
feel we could not live where others were doing well. If we could
do no better, we could make our home in a tent. But I believed
there would be a way provided.
Soon after breakfast we drove to town to
search for a house to live in, and to look after our goods, which
we expected that day. Hearing of a young lawyer by the name of
Robertson, who was a Methodist, we hunted him up, introduced
ourselves, and told him what we wanted. He seemed to be very glad
to see us, gave us a very warm reception, and said, "Yes, we will
find you a house." In less than half an hour he came to us with
the information that he had found a house into which we could move
at any time. Not knowing how coolly we were treated at G.'s, he
advised us to go back there and stay until our goods should
arrive. As apparently we were not wanted, to return and stay
another night was a hard pill to take; but as we had no money to
spend at the hotel, and
our babe was sick, we felt it was the only thing to be done at
the time. Besides, we had left some of our things at Brother G.'s,
which required us to go there anyhow. On our way back, we met Mrs.
G., wading through the mud toward a neighbor's, and she informed
us that we would find our things on the porch. On telling her that
our goods had not come, and we did not know where to go, she said,
"I am not able to wait on you any longer." She was footing it away
from home to get rid of us, working much harder than she need have
done for us at home. Going to the house, we found our goods on the
porch, and the doors locked as against a thief. Previous to this
we had thought it possible that this unkindness was only imaginary
on our part, but now there was no mistake. They did n't want us,
and had turned us out of doors.
The reader may know something of our feelings
when he reflects that we were among strangers, with but little
money, a very sick child, and no shelter from the night air.
Surely this was one of the greatest trials of my life. If an enemy
had thus turned us from his house,
we could have endured it much better; but it was one who should
have been our best friend. If I mistake not, this brother was a
steward in the Methodist Church at the time.
Notwithstanding the great annoyance, we
laughed over our predicament, and returned to the town, where we
met a good local brother, who lived five or six miles in the
country. After telling him how the presiding elder had directed us
to Brother G.'s, and how we had been treated by Brother G., he
sent us to his home, and there we were received right royally.
This brother's name is John Allberry, a local preacher, whom we
shall ever hold in grateful remembrance for his kindness. Brother
Allberry was a poor man, but had a large heart. Though he lived in
a small house, he made us feel at home and far more comfortable
than if he had possessed all the needed room and conveniences,
without a good, warm welcome. After getting my family under
shelter, appointments were made for Sunday preaching. The morning
appointment was at the Cunningham Schoolhouse, where I found
friends by the score. Brother Cunningham was a well-to-do
16
farmer, though not a Church member at the time. He took great
interest in our welfare, perhaps for the sake of his wife, who was
one of the leading Methodists of that community, and who always
delighted to make the preacher and his family feel at home in her
house.
Before our first Sunday on the charge the
news of Brother G.'s reception of the pastor and his family had
spread throughout the country, and every Methodist home was
consequently now thrown open to us. The people, Church members and
all, were so indignant that they made Brother G. wish he was
somewhere else. The poor fellow lost friends on all sides,
withdrew from the Church, and soon after died. We shall leave hint
in the hands of a just God, hoping that he repented of his
stinginess, and is in heaven. Although we had such a cool
reception at first, we never anywhere have met with warmer friends
than on that circuit.
After a few days' waiting, our goods came,
and we were keeping house on our new field of labor. Our
ill-treatment made for us many friends, and perhaps gave us access
to the hearts of the people as nothing else could have done.
We moved into the rooms of an old hotel
building, which was rusty, dirty, and cold. We could endure this,
when supplied with fuel for the fire and something to eat. In
knocking around from place to place in the cold, damp weather, our
sick babe continued to grow worse, and in one short week after
settling in Norfolk he died. Again we were smitten with sorrow.
Here we were, far from home, among entire strangers, and our
little child torn from our bosoms. But this new and deep
affliction called around us many friends, who ministered to us in
our sorrow, and buried our little one on the hillside in the
Norfolk Cemetery, where its little form still lies, and where our
parental hearts often go to weep. After making the acquaintance of
the people on the entire charge, we were well pleased with our
circuit. I was the first traveling preacher sent to that charge by
the Conference, though Brother Beels, a local preacher, had served
it the previous year. So, you see, we were still paving the way
for some one else. This year, for several reasons, Mrs. Wells
usually accompanied me to my appointments. She was among
strangers, and would be lonesome if left at home. Then, the
house was very cold, with unpleasant surroundings, especially on
Sundays, when she would have only the company of our little
daughter. A German family lived in one room of the house we
occupied, and on Sundays the Germans would gather there for a good
time. Sometimes they would spend much of the day in quarreling and
fussing with each other; at other times they would have a general
jollification all day long. Not unfrequently, when we were from
home, the woman in the neighboring room would ransack our premises
from top to bottom, and take what she dared, and conceal it. This
we knew to be true; for we found missing things in her possession,
which she could not deny having taken. And the man who lived in
the house, our neighbor, was accommodating enough to help use both
our wood and hay.
These little incidents are mentioned that the
reader may better understand the trials experienced by an
itinerant and his wife. There are people who say, "What a fine
time preachers have in this world!" I hope the people who
say this may be so fortunate as to read the contents of this
little book; not because it is a wonderful production, but because
of the plain, simple facts it gives in regard to the frontier work
of the ministry. True, there are many blessed things in connection
with the work of the ministry. If there were no sunshine, no
pastor would be able to endure the burdens imposed upon him.
When we were taking leave of the people at
Red Cloud, a Baptist lady said to me: "I envy you Methodist
preachers in one thing: you go to so many places, and make so many
friends;" to which I replied, "Yes, and so many enemies, too."
Preachers get the bitter with the sweet. Of course, my experience
is not the experience of all preachers. As with other occupations,
some have smooth sailing, and others have a rough time all the way
through. Besides, I am not giving the bright side, but attempting
to picture the dark side, of a minister's life on the
frontier.
This year we had another very dry season,
resulting in light crops, on which the grasshoppers came down by
multiplied millions.
Great destitution and suffering followed, and
it was hard for the preacher to obtain support. The grasshoppers
came in such swarms that they looked in the distance like
fast-gathering rain clouds flying through the air. In some places
on the fields of grain they were so numerous that the grain was
completely hid from sight. If they had kept still, a man with a
scoop shovel could have filled a common wagon-bed with them in a
few minutes. For a number of years it seemed to be our lot to meet
with the grasshoppers, which would take meat, bread, and other
things from our table.
The fall season passed off pleasantly and
quietly, and we enjoyed our work. The trials we passed through at
the outset better prepared us for others that might follow. We had
four regular appointments, with preaching at each every two weeks.
Winter set in early, and was long and severe, which caused us
considerable suffering. I say suffering; for we did suffer from
the cold. We did a great deal of traveling in the bitter weather;
but this we didn't mind so much as having to suffer from the
cold
when at home. Our house was an unfinished frame building, and
exceedingly airy. Besides a house exposed to the winds, we had the
poorest of fuel. There being no coal in the country, we burned
such wood as the brethren could bring to us, principally green
cottonwood. Whoever has tried burning green cottonwood for winter
fuel will know how we fared during the severe weather. The only
way we could keep fire at all in the coldest weather was by having
a good supply in the house, and, while a part was burning, the
rest would be thawing and drying. In this way, by continually
crowding the stove with wood, we managed to avoid freezing.
Sometimes during the severest weather our woodpile gave out, and I
would have to replenish it with my own hands. About a half mile up
the river there was a large plum thicket, with many dead bushes.
When we were out of wood, I took a long rope and my ax, went to
this place, cut down dead plum-bushes, piled them on the ice in
the river, tied the rope about them, and dragged them on the ice
to the house, which was only a few rods from the
river. In this way I could draw an immense pile of brush,
especially when the ice was smooth.
Here let me say to the reader that, during
all this time, we had a home to which we could have gone and made
a comfortable living. But we thought that duty called us from home
and friends, and so we went. I have been wonderfully astonished at
seemingly intelligent people's questions in regard to our living
and making money; such as the following: "Can't you make a better
living on your farm than you can by preaching?" As a matter of
course we could, if a living was the only consideration. How
little many Christian people realize what a call to the ministry
means! I certainly would never have preached if I had not felt,
"Woe is me if I preach not the gospel."
The crops having been destroyed by drouth and
grasshoppers during the summer, it seemed almost impossible that
many of the people could get through the winter. Taking into
consideration the condition of the preachers and Church on the
frontier work, our presiding elder went East, and solicited money,
goods, and provisions
for the people, and especially for the preachers' families. Had
he not done so, we should have seen much harder times, or been
compelled to abandon our work. Goods were shipped to me, to use
whatever was needed for my family, and the rest was to be given to
the most needy around us. In this way many were helped through the
winter. The preachers throughout our Western country were helped
in this way, and it was made possible for them to remain on their
work.
After passing through all this, and seeing
how wonderfully the Lord had sustained us, we can realize the
force and truthfulness of the promise, "Lo, I am with you always,
even unto the end of the world." I feel sure that when a minister
goes to his work and does his duty, the Lord will provide for his
needs, though he may have a very difficult charge. If the Lord has
not promised the minister much of this world, he sometimes gives
it to him. As he has not promised ease in Zion, let us not be
discouraged if we do not find it.
We received financial aid in another way
while on this charge. I drove a four-horse team
nearly through one harvesting of small grain. The Lord, in thus
giving me something to do at which I could earn a few dollars,
helped me to provide for my family. Some may think it disgraceful
for a minister to work in the harvest-field, but I enjoyed it, and
felt it quite an honor to be able to do so much for myself. Want
did not compel me to go to work in the harvest-field, but we had a
scanty supply, and I thought this would help fill our larder and
do no harm further than taking me from my studies. I have always
told the brethren that I had good, strong, and willing hands, and,
if need be, could make my living by manual labor. The good Lord,
however, has always provided a way, and I have never been
compelled to leave the ministry in order to make a living, though,
at times my family has had scanty rations and but little of the
luxuries of life. Many times, during this Conference year, we have
sat down to the table with only bread and coffee for breakfast; at
other times our meal consisted of bread and butter alone, without
tea, coffee, or sugar. At the beginning of my ministry I adopted
the rule of not going in debt for any
thing when it could be avoided. Because of this rule, we were
sometimes for weeks without sugar in the house, excepting a little
Mrs. Wells laid by in case of sickness or other emergencies.
During the winter of this Conference year we
had some good revival-meetings, and many were taken into the
Church. The Lord blessed the entire charge, and gave us many souls
for our hire. Blessed be the name of the Lord! In all my
ministerial work, to this time, I had not preached in a Methodist
church since joining the Conference, and had been inside of none
excepting at Conference. My work had been in private dwellings and
schoolhouses, or in borrowed churches. At Lyons we occupied the
Presbyterian church, and at Norfolk the Congregational church.
These things are not told complainingly, but only to show the real
work of my life. I suppose I am best adapted to border work, and,
if so, there is where I ought to be.
Some time during the year another appointment
was made at a little town called Pierce, in Pierce County. Mine
was the first Method-
ist preaching, and probably the first preaching of any kind, in
this little town.
At the opening of spring we moved into a
house on a farm, a short distance from town, where we had much
better accommodation than in the old tenement-house.
Conference is at hand, and I am to preach my
last sermon, and go.
At my last meeting in Norfolk before
Conference, many of the citizens turned out to hear me, as we all
thought, possibly for the last time. At the appointed time I
announced this text, from which I tried to preach, "The Lord is a
Spirit." After hammering at and wrestling with it for about thirty
minutes, I sat down completely chagrined and wonderfully
mortified. I felt really ashamed of having so bored the people.
The next day a steward went about the town, trying to make up my
salary, and called on one of the merchants for this purpose. The
merchant asked how much he wanted. The steward answered, "As much
as I can get." The merchant said, "Well, I'll give you five
dollars; for the last sermon Mr. Wells preached is worth that much
to me." Had there been
any chance for thinking so, I would have thought he was making
light of my sermon; but I could not doubt his sincerity. After
this I concluded that, though I did not please myself in trying to
preach, still the people might be pleased; also, that I could not
always tell when I was interesting the congregation. Perhaps the
merchant was the only one interested or benefited at all by my
discourse; but if it did good even to one, it was a success. I
find that almost any kind of a sermon will interest some one in a
congregation. After years of experience in addressing audiences,
one can usually tell whether he is interesting a congregation or
not. When a speaker sees that his hearers are interested, it is an
inspiration to him, and it is much easier to speak to them than to
a heedless audience.
Off again to Conference, which meets this
year at Lincoln. There being no railroad from here to Lincoln, we
must drive through with our ponies. In company with other
ministers, we journeyed toward the seat of Conference. After
traveling until nearly sundown, we began to inquire for a
lodging-place for the night. The
first man whom we addressed said he could not keep us, but his
neighbor, a little farther on, could. Going to that neighbor, he
said he could not keep us, but his next neighbor, a little farther
on, could. Calling at the next house, we were told the same thing,
By this time night was upon us, and we were traveling in the dark.
Coming to another house, we drove up to the yard, and asked the
man if he could keep us over night. He said, "Well, no; I can't
keep you to-night." Notwithstanding we were preachers, we by this
time had become quite mischievous over our many failures; for the
thing indeed was laughable as well as ridiculous. One of the
brethren who was a good-natured fellow, and full of fun, said to
this man, "We have been looking for a place to stay over night for
several miles back, and every one has turned us off, and now, if
somebody do n't look out, he is going to get a licking." Going a
short distance farther, we called at a widow's house, where we
found a home for the night.
The next day we drove until long after night,
that we might be at the opening of Conference, and answer to
roll-call. Here I reported
thirty-three members in full connection and two hundred dollars
on salary. I presume that fifty dollars would cover what I
received in cash this year, as I took nearly all my salary in
trade of some kind. I remember one man's giving me potatoes. He
said: "Come down, and get some potatoes. You might just as well
have them as not; for if you don't get them, I shall feed them to
the hogs." Those potatoes came handy to us; but if he could have
sold them for the money or used them himself, we would have got
none of them. Just so with even certain Church members: that which
they can neither use themselves nor sell, and which they do n't
care to feed to the hogs, they give to the Lord, if his poor
servants will come and gather it. But such contributions are often
welcome to the frontier preacher; he is glad to get them. Some of
our people are like the Dutchman who, when asked how he managed to
make money so fast, replied: "We work hard and raise all we can;
and what we can, we sell; and what we can't sell, we feed to the
hogs; and what the hogs won't eat, we eat ourselves." Some Church
members sell what they can, and what they
can't sell they eat, and what they can't eat they give to the
preacher. I am glad to say that we have few such men in our
Church; for our people are a sacrificing class of Christians, many
of them doing even more than the Lord requires.
This year we had a long siege at Conference.
One of the brethren was accused of certain irregularities, and
arraigned for trial, and I was appointed on the committee to try
the case. The case was brought before the committee at the
beginning of the Conference, and continued several days and
nights. At the close of the trial we sat all night long. A little
after sun-up the case was turned over into our hands, and we
closed for breakfast. 0 how sad to have a brother minister accused
of crime and arraigned before the Conference! I wish there might
be some way to bring the accuser to justice when the accused is
found innocent!
At Lincoln, on the nineteenth day of
September, 1875, I was ordained elder by Bishop Gilbert Haven, who
has long since quit the field and gone home to rest from his
labors. Now I am a full-fledged Methodist preacher. When
the appointments were announced, I was returned to Norfolk to
serve another year.
This year was not so full of trials and
afflictions as the previous one, though we had rough times and
plenty of hard work. Having to move into another house, we rented
one still farther in the country, and our home now was a country
home. Here we spent the winter in a little house not more than
twelve by fourteen feet in size, and one story high. Though the
house was small, we were quite comfortable, and enjoyed ourselves
very well. The circuit had grown more in size than in numbers,
making an unwieldy work on our hands. An additional burden was
imposed upon us by the removal of a local preacher who had
supplied an adjoining circuit, and my being put in charge of his
work. I had now the oversight of two large circuits, which I could
manage only by employing the local preachers to help me out. In
this way we gave each point preaching every two weeks, though
there were nine appointments on the two circuits.
After the presiding elder had removed the
17
brother from the Madison Charge, and placed it in my care, we
removed to Madison, because there was a parsonage at that place,
which, though small, was better than living in a rented house.
This was our fourth move in less than two years. In moving into
all kinds of houses we find all kinds of insects that prey upon
human blood. One house we found as nearly alive with bugs as a
house could be, and not walk off. Soon after going to bed the
first night, the bugs sallied out upon us by the hundreds, as if
we were sent there on purpose to feed them. Wife and I heroically
defended ourselves and child from the invaders by killing them as
fast as they charged upon us, not allowing too many to get hold of
us at once; for they acted as if they intended to carry us to
their hiding-place for future use. After killing the first squad
that came out of ambush, we began to count as fast as we destroyed
them, and by actual count we killed more than two hundred, besides
the many we had deprived of life before beginning to count. Some
people have a great dread of certain kinds of bugs, especially
such as creep into houses and get into bed with them; but if they
were as
well acquainted with these innocent little creatures as are the
frontier preachers of the Western country, they would know that
their bite is not always fatal, though sometimes they do cause
considerable suffering.
While Mrs. Wells, our little daughter, and I
were crossing the State of Nebraska on our way to our circuit in
the northern part of the State, we called at a sod farmhouse to
stay overnight. Being made welcome, we went in and found
everything as neat and clean as could be in any house of the kind.
That evening the lady had just finished house-cleaning, and
everything seemed to be in order. Wife and I were given a clean
bed; so we took our little girl, and retired. The weather was
exceedingly warm, and soon after going to bed the child began to
fret, and said, "Mamma, the mosquitos bite me so." Within a few
minutes we felt them lighting on our faces, but not with the smell
of a mosquito. They continued to come faster and faster, until we
were rolling, scratching, and pounding in self-defense. We spent a
night of wakefulness and continual warfare, but came off
victorious, though not without great loss of blood. Look-
ing over the battle-ground the next morning, we found it
stained with the blood of many slain. Our hostess was a nice and
tidy housekeeper; but, as her house-roof was made of poles, hay,
sorghum stalks, and dirt, it was a splendid rendezvous for bugs.
There they could live in safety during the day, and at night sally
forth on a foraging expedition, drop from the roof into the face
of the unsuspecting victim, fill themselves, and return to their
quarters in the roof. The only possible way to drive them from
their barracks in such a place is to burn roof and all. Now, do
n't think that Nebraska preachers have seen no bugs! The frontier
preachers of Nebraska are used to Indians, buffaloes, elk, deer,
antelopes, turkeys, prairie-dogs, grasshoppers, bedbugs, fleas,
and sod-houses.
This year we made a trip to Fairbury, to
visit our folks, driving all the way there and back with our
ponies. While returning to our charge, it rained most of the time.
One day we traveled all day long through the rain in an open
buggy. The reader may ask, "Why travel all day in the rain?"
Because the frontier preachers have no money to pay hotel bills,
or to spend anywhere
in lying over for the rain to cease. There is no class of
professional men that is not better paid for their work than the
average preacher. True, some ministers have large salaries, and
live on the best of the land; but they are the exception.
This year we went through the regular routine
of work on the charge, having a very good year, but no great
revival demonstration. The people in Madison made it quite
pleasant for us while among them. Though we are not writing of the
bright side of our life, yet, with much pleasure, I remember one
incident of our happy experience while serving the Madison and
Norfolk Circuits, which I must relate. One beautiful day in the
summer season, about thirty of the citizens procured a large tent,
and went on an excursion to the "Yellow Banks," on the Elkhorn
River, about fifteen miles away. Here we pleasantly spent two days
and nights in a general picnic, with fishing. We sang, delivered
speeches, and made the woods ring with our laughter. In the
afternoon of the second day we returned home, every one refreshed
and feeling better for having laid aside home cares for even so
short a time.
This Conference year passed off very
pleasantly, and with but little worth mentioning in this
sketch.
Conference-time is again at hand, and we must
be off to Falls City. On our way to the seat of Conference we went
by the way of Blue Springs. In this little town, fourteen years
ago, I preached my first sermon in Nebraska, and the second one of
my life, and here I was licensed as a local preacher. The town was
changed, and many of the old settlers had gone; but there were a
few faces that I yet recognized. During the night I was taken
quite unwell, and remained so all the next day. Riding all day in
the hot sun made me still worse. At night I called at the home of
the Rev. I. M. Adair, then pastor at Table Rock, whose good wife
took my case in hand, brought me through, and I felt quite well
the next morning. After breakfast, Brother Adair and I drove to
the seat of the Conference, and answered to roll-call. This year I
reported one hundred and three members for the Norfolk and Madison
Circuits, and received one hundred and thirty dollars on salary.
The grasshoppers had taken a greater portion of my salary
claim
and eaten it up, so we had to be satisfied with what they left.
Spiritually and socially this had been a very pleasant year, but,
financially, among the hardest in all my ministry; for now I had a
family to support, and needed more than when alone.
When the appointments were announced, my name
was called for Oakdale, which is upon the Elkhorn Valley, in
Antelope County, still farther west than my previous appointment.
Returning home, trusty persons were hired to remove our goods,
and, with our ponies, we rode away in quest of our new field of
labor.
One bright, beautiful spring morning my
presiding elder, J. B. Maxfield, and I went to look after
Methodist families, thinking to establish a new preaching-point.
Knowing of a county superintendent who was a Methodist and living
in the community, we directed our course to his house, expecting
to take dinner with him. Reaching the place, we drove into the
yard, and then entered the house, and introduced ourselves to the
superintendent's wife, who received us kindly, but with great
embarrassment. The house we had entered was partly dug in the
ground and partly built of sod, with a dirt roof and floor, the
wife wearing hardly enough clothing to hide her shame, and her
children running about the room, some of them almost stark naked.
Dinner was begun, and some of the children hurried off to the
neighbors to borrow dishes; for, from appearances, there was not
an earthen plate or teacup in the house. Going out to the
haystack, we lay there until called for dinner. If I ever pitied a
woman, I did this one; for she was a handsome, intelligent, and
noble Christian lady, but was completely crushed with poverty and
neglect. How inhuman some men are, who claim to be husbands and
Christians.
© 2001 for NEGenWeb by Pam Rietsch, Ted &
Carole Miller
