But my little scheme backfired on me. One of those brothers couldn't stand to be outdone by a younger brother. He told Mama and Papa that I was lying and cheating, because he knew I couldn't count bolls while I sang a song. But he was wrong. I could. Anyway, nothing I could say would make him believe me. I began to become an outcast among some of my brothers early in life. I believe there were times when some of them would have been glad to "sell me into slavery" as Joseph's brothers did him. But my parents didn't seem to doubt my word. I really believe they understood that I could do a thing or two that some of the others could not do--and perhaps were not at all interested in doing. I believe little things like that were the beginning of a wee bit of an unconscious rift between some of my brothers and me, and at the same time, the making of a stronger bond between my parents and me. Looking back, I remember many times when Papa and I were doing things together and there was no one else around. I really don't know why I was the only one there a lot of times. Maybe I just wanted to be in good company. I loved and admired Papa and I thought he was the best and nicest man in the world. Or perhaps I was with Papa because of my inquisitive mind concerning mechanical things, like, "How do you shoe a horse?" "How do you tighten a loose wagon tire?" "How do you make a row-binder do what you want it to do when the manufacturer couldn't seem to do it?" I watched him do all these things and many more. And many of the things he did fascinated me. The situation was much the same between Mama and me. "How do you churn milk and make butter?" "How do you 'take up' the butter after it is churned?" "How do you make those beautiful decorations on it later?" "How do you weave a carpet on Grandma's loom?" It seems I was always watching a lot of these goings-on while the other kids were somewhere else doing whatever they liked to do. And Mama and Papa were never too busy to answer my questions. I realize now how much more I could have learned if I had only known how and when to ask more questions. It seems that my parents favored and petted me at times. I'm not sure they did. If they did, perhaps it was because they felt sorry for their little ugly duckling. And maybe I only imagined they were especially nice to me. Maybe they were that nice to everyone. Perhaps they were nice to me just to have me around handy when they needed me to help them just a little bit. This latter seems to be the most reasonable argument, after considering some of my stupid exploits and my senseless reasoning throughout my life.