The first night, when I went to bed, I put my boots and clothes where I supposed I could easily find them the next morning, but when morning came I could find everything except the boots. I found, in the place where I had left the boots, an old pair of slippers. (The slippers were nice and clean, however.) I thought some scamp had stolen my boots, and left for me his slippers. I did not know what to do. I was afraid to wear the slippers lest someone would accuse me of stealing them. But I finally dared to put them on and step into the cabin parlor and at the far end I saw fifty or more pairs of boots, and all well cleaned and blackened. I shyly approached a big black man who was sitting by the boots and dare to ask him if he had my boots there. He said, "What's de number, please?" I said, "Number seven." "Yes sir" he said and picked out a pair for me. (I noticed by this time that all the boots were numbered with chalk.) I saw at once that the boots he picked out were not mine, and said, "These are not my boots." "Dat's number seven, sir, de number of your berth." I said, "You are mistaken, my birth is the 15th of March." "O dat so." "Your number fifteen," said he, and picked up the boots chalk marked 15. They were my boots. I took them and started to walk back with them in my hand to my berth, the number of which was 15. The negro said, "Say, mister, I usually get a dime." I said, "Excuse me,", and paid him a dime. Do you see, boys? Yes, we see that the boy who afterwards became our father was green. Of course, I was green. All things are green before they are ripe. In the next day or two we landed at Lagrange, Missouri, a small town above Quincy, Ill. There the doctor had two horses and a buggy. The doctor, his wife and boy rode in the buggy, driving one horse, and I rode the other horse, and in this fashion we made our way westward for four days, passing through the towns of Lewiston, Edina, Kirksville, Scottsville, until we arrived at Lindley, a small town on Medicine Creek in Grunday County.