When the Abilene and Southern Railroad was being built into Hamlin, Papa got a job helping clear the right-of-way. And it was Mama's job to take Papa's lunch to him. Pardon, in those days it wasn't lunch--it was dinner, at or near midday. Then we had supper at the close of day. Anyway, Mama and I would hook Old Ribbon to the old buggy and take Papa his dinner every day. One day we took Papa's dinner to him and found him sawing down trees where the railroad was to cross Dry Callie Creek. While we were there, he sawed into the hollow of a big elm tree and water gushed out. After the tree fell, the hollow stump was standing full of water. Of course, you've got to be a little kid for something like that to impress you. And that's what I was. But it was another day that Old Ribbon impressed me. It was almost dinner time when Mama and I hooked her to the old buggy to take Papa his dinner. As usual, I was in the seat with Mama, and the grub box was in the floor at our feet. It was covered with a clean white cloth to keep the flies and dust away. Now, we hadn't gone more than a hundred yards from our house when Old Ribbon had to do what comes natural for all horses to do. But this time Old Ribbon had symptoms of dysentery and gas. Either one without the other wouldn't have been so bad. But both together made it plenty bad. The dashboard was only half large enough. It caught what it could; Mama and I caught most of the rest. And the white cloth over Papa's dinner caught its share--but it wasn't white any more. In your eyes, it burned, in your nose, it smelled terrible, and in your mouth, it tasted a lot like what it really was. No question about it, there was just one thing to do, go back home, wash up, wash the buggy, change clothes, change the cloth over the dinner, hope it didn't go through onto the biscuits, get going again and take Papa a late dinner. Ho hum, dull life on the farm, no excitement. Papa may have been hungry by the time we got his dinner to him and he may have been worried and weary. He may have been upset and Mama may have been upset but they couldn't afford to say anything bad. They didn't allow any sort of rough language in our family. Old Ribbon was a good gentle horse for Mama and us kids, but Papa had some big horses he used to move heavy loads and haul his cotton to the gin. And in the rush cotton picking season, we kids and Mama picked almost all of the cotton, while Papa took it to town, got it ginned and then sold it. There were many days when Papa would leave home before five o'clock in the morning with a load of cotton, wait his turn at the gin and not get home until after ten that night. Ginning was slow in those days. Sometimes it would mean that Papa could get home an hour or two earlier if he could get to the gin ahead of just one other farmer. So, a good team was valuable to a farmer during the cotton harvest season.