When I was five years old my parents moved to Tamworth, New Hampshire. Young as I was, I am still able to recall events that occurred while I lived in Canada. I remember falling into a well and being badly bruised. I remember also an adventure with a bear. My parents had gone to church, leaving me at home, greatly against my will. I attempted to follow, but missed the road and wandered off into a wood, perhaps three miles away. When my parents returned they were much alarmed, and parties immediately went in pursuit. When I knew I was lost I set up a vigorous screaming, which had the effect of attracting attention from two very different parties. The first was a huge bear in quest of food, and doubtless delighted at the prospect before him. The second was one of the rescuing parties in quest of the lost boy. Both simultaneously approached the screaming youngster and Bruin fought stubbornly for his prey, but was vanquished by the clubs of my rescuers, and I was carried home in triumph. I do not clearly recall all the incidents of this scene, and, strangely enough, do not remember seeing the bear. Perhaps the terror of being lost drove out every other impression. An excuse for the narration of this apparently trifling incident may be found in the fact that but for the prompt arrival of the rescuing party, this history would never have been written. When I was ten years of age my parents removed to Bloomfield, Maine. While in Tamworth I had excellent opportunities of attending school, which I improved to the utmost. After leaving Tamworth my school privileges were well nigh ended, as I never received from that time more than six months' schooling. My father followed lumbering on the Kennebec river. During the first winter in Maine, he took me to the logging camp as camp boy. During the second winter he hired me to Matthew and Lewis Dunbar as a cook for their wood camp. I cooked for six men and received five dollars a month. I was used very kindly by the Dunbars, but that winter in the woods seemed a long, long winter. The only book in camp was the Bible. There were, however, newspapers and playing cards. In the spring my father used the fifteen dollars received for my three months' work to purchase a cow. I served the Dunbars the third winter, as cook, for six dollars a month, and worked the ensuing summer on farms at about twenty-five cents per day. During the fourth winter I worked for the Dunbars and Timothy Snow at seven dollars per month, and the summer following worked on a farm for Benjamin Cayford at seven dollars. Cayford was a merciless tyrant, and sometimes compelled his men to work in the field till nine o'clock at night. These details of wages paid and work done, uninteresting in themselves, serve to show the value of a boy's work (I was not yet fifteen) and what was expected of the average boy, for mine was no exceptional case nor was my father more exacting than others in his station in life.