We took the frightened creature to the wagon and, when half a mile away, put him down to shift for himself. The dog would not be deserted by his new-found friends, but followed the team and, at every attempt to drive him away, would roll over on his back and implore in doggish fashion, to go with us. So at last, when we arrived at home, the dog was with us. Bill, of course, strenuously objected to having the dog on the place; but after much pleading I got mother to allow us to keep him, though she also did not like dogs. “I won’t have him underfoot,” she declared, “so you must keep him away from the house--out at the barn;” to which we agreed. We were delighted, for what boy does not love a dog? Jot taught him several cunning tricks, among other things, to bring home the cows at milking time. Because of his color we called him “Muddy.” I have told these simple things not alone to reveal Jonathan’s compassionate nature, but because they were not without influence in scenes of greater importance, in our later lives, as you shall see. Jot worked faithfully on the farm, and with its healthy food and work, had grown to be a strong though slight young man. He had attended school several winters, learning rapidly. Meanwhile the war was claiming more and more of our attention, and we read about it with such interest that we had begun taking a daily newspaper. When the news came of the sinking of the great passenger ship, the _Lusitania_, with its hundreds of passengers, it seemed too dreadful to believe. Though public indignation was at white heat over this cruel deed, it was soon toned to soberness by thoughts of our own possible war with this relentless military power. Soon after the sinking of the _Lusitania_, a great personal sorrow befell me in the loss of my mother. She passed away after only a few days’ illness of heart failure. After her burial in the Stark private burial plot, my Aunt Joe and her husband came to take charge of the farm. Jonathan continued to work with us, but Bill left to work elsewhere; for he declared he wouldn’t stand bossing from any one. The farm did not seem like home to me after mother’s death, and I fell into such melancholy at times, that Aunt Joe gave me what she called a good talking to, saying, “I guess your mother is glad to have her boy care for her; but it is just as natural to die, as it is to be born, and it don’t do a speck of good to be blue when we lose our friends.” To illustrate her philosophy, she then sat down and had a good cry with me. CHAPTER III IMPENDING WAR CLOUDS It was October, 1916. The harvests were gathered, and the fall ploughing was done; the frost was in the ground, and the hills were ablaze with the scarlet and gold of Autumn. I was debating with Jot whether I would attend school or not, that winter. “Of course,” answered Jot, “you will go to school just as if your mother were here to tell you to go.”