Martin Conwell, during Russell's boyhood days, carefully guarded his son from being spoiled by the flattery of neighbors and friends. He realized that Russell was a boy in many ways above the average, but his practical common sense prevented him from taking such pride in Russell's various achievements as to let him become spoiled and conceited. Many a whipping Russell received for the personal songs he composed about the neighbors. But that was not prohibitive. The very next night, Russell would hold up to ridicule the peculiarity of some one in the neighborhood, much to his victim's chagrin and to the amusement of the listeners. He was forever inventing improvements for the fishing apparatus, oars, boats, coasting sleds, household and farm utensils, often forgetting the tasks his father had given him while doing it. Naturally, this exasperated Martin Conwell, who had no help on the farm but the boys, and the rod would again be brought into active service. Once, after whipping him for such neglect of work--he had left the cider apples out in the frost--Martin Conwell asked his son's pardon because he had invented an improved ox-sled that was of great practical value. When he was fifteen he ran away again. No friendly Deacon Chipman interfered this time, nor is it likely he would easily have been turned from the project, for he planned to go to Europe. He went to Chicopee to an uncle's, whom he frankly told of his intended trip. The uncle kept Russell for a day or two by various expedients, while he wrote to his father telling him Russell was there and what he intended doing. The father wrote back saying to give him what money he needed and let him go. So Russell started on his journey over the sea. He worked his way on a cattle steamer from New York to Liverpool. But it was a homesick boy that roamed around in foreign lands, and as he has said most feelingly since, "I felt that if I could only get back home, I would never, never leave it again." He did not stay abroad long and when he returned to his home, his father greeted him as if he had been absent a few hours, and never in any way, by word or action, referred to the subject. In fact, so far as Martin Conwell appeared, Russell might have been no farther than Huntington. Thus boyhood days passed with their measure of work and their measure of play. He lived the healthy, active life of a farm boy, taking a keen interest in the affairs of the young people of the neighborhood, amusing the older heads by his mischievous pranks. He diligently and perseveringly studied in school hours and out. He read every book he could get hold of. He was sometimes disobedient, often intractable, in no way different from thousands of other farm boys of those days or these. But the times were coming which would test his mettle. Would he continue to climb as he had done after the eagle's nest, though compelled many times to go to the very ground and begin over again?