With some diffidence I venture to make one criticism on our home life. The “Sabbath” was too rigidly observed to commend itself to the judgment and conscience of children—too rigidly, perhaps, for the most healthy piety in adults. It is hard to convince boys that to whistle on Sunday, even though the tune be “Old Hundred,” is a sin deserving of censure. An afternoon stroll in the farm or the orchard might even have clarified my father’s vision for the enjoyment of his Scott’s Bible at night. It would surely have been a means of grace to his boys. But such was the Scottish type of piety of those days, and it was strongly held. The family discipline was of the reserved and dignified type, rather than of the affectionate. Implicit obedience was the law for children. My father loved his children, but never descended to the level of familiarity with them when young, and could not sympathize with their sports. But dark days were coming. Brother John Martin presently married and moved west. In August, 1840, an infant sister died of quinsy—the first death I ever witnessed. On June 8th, 1841, the father and “house-bond” of the family was taken away. The inheritance he left his children was the example of an upright, spotless life—of more worth than a legacy of silver and gold. These we might have squandered, but that was inalienable. At thirteen, I was small for my age—too small to do a man’s work on the farm; and there was no money with which to secure for me an education. Just then occurred one of those casual incidents which often determine the whole course of one’s life. Mr. Roderick McIntosh, one of my mother’s cousins, being disabled for hard work on the farm, had learned the tailor’s trade, and was then living in the village of Pittsboro, twenty-one miles away. His father was a neighbour of ours, and a man after my father’s own heart. The two families had thus always been very intimate. While the question of my destiny was thus in the balance, this cousin, one day, while on a visit to his father, called at our house. He had mounted his horse to leave, when, turning to Evander, he asked, “What is Dan’l going to do?” My brother replied, “There he is; ask him.” Turning to me, he said, “Well, Dan’l, how would you like to come and live with me? I will teach you a trade.” I had never thought of such a thing, nor had it ever been mentioned in the family. But somehow it struck me favourably. Instinctively I replied, “I believe I should like it.” A life-question could not have been settled more fortuitously. But it was the first step on the way to Siam and the Lāo Mission.