Somehow, I just can't help but believe that parents knew these little things were going on between lovers, but they seemed to think that if they told their kids it was all right for them to do these things, it would be like saying "sic 'em" to a dog. Putting it another way, parents were saying, "Don't ever let me catch you doing such things." And the kids were not actually saying but were thinking, "Okay, I'll try not to let you catch me when I do them." Dances were looked down upon because they attracted boys who drank, and girls with loose morals. There were some boys and girls who lived six or eight miles from us who were not wanted at some of the parties given in our neighborhood, and were not invited by some of our neighbors who were giving the parties. But when my parents gave a party at our house, they invited everyone who would come. They thought it unmannerly to invite certain ones and leave others out. They seemed to figure that their integrity would demand respect from the worst of them--and it did. There never was any trouble at our house--no drinking, no fighting, no "cussing." I remember one of those parties when some young people came in a buggy from quite a distance away. I think I was about nine years old and, of course, I didn't know all about everything that went on around me but I knew enough to realize there were some bad feelings between their families and some of those in our immediate neighborhood. The main reason seemed to be that those youngsters attended dances in other communities and some parents in our neighborhood sure didn't approve of that. The incident I remember had to do with their buggy horse which got sick with a severe attack of colic while the party was going on. Someone had wandered outside and had discovered the horse in great pain. The boy who owned the animal had seen the disease before and knew how quickly it could kill a good horse. So he offered to sell the animal to anyone for $10. It would have been a bargain for Papa, because he knew exactly what to do to cure the horse. And the horse was probably worth $50. When Papa learned about the problem, he got a quart bottle, filled it about a quarter-full of soda and then added about a half-quart of kerosene. Then he climbed up in a tree, pulled the horse's head high in the air with the bridle reins and poured the mixture down his throat. Within ten minutes, the horse was without pain and resting comfortably, except for a mighty bad taste in his mouth. I think the boy was truly grateful that Papa had not taken advantage of him by buying the horse. Will Johnson knew that a good name was rather to be chosen than the value of a buggy horse.