“I am sorry to say I have not. The next important event of my life was the death of my father, which caused my first real sadness. I was fourteen then; how well I remember the night after we buried all that was left of our dear protector. I dressed for bed, then, as was my custom, went to say good-night to papa and mamma; my prayers were always said at my father’s knee; that night from force of habit I went from the door of my room and walked straightway to my father’s chair and was just bowing my head as I prepared to kneel, when the vacant chair caught my eye. Oh, sir! I can’t tell you how desolate, how dreary I felt when I fully realized that the blessed privilege of snuggling into his lap and putting my arms around his neck and having a good talk with him was gone forever; my father always trusted me as a good friend and companion, confiding in me and often advising with me on different topics pertaining to his sermons, so that even at this tender age I was well advanced in mental training; he never told me no if I asked him if I should read a certain book, or go any place, or do anything; if my act did not meet his approval he never indulged in a long lecture about disobedient and headstrong children, but would take me gently into his arms and say, ‘Now, let’s see, we will talk it over,’ and before I left him I would know and understand why my contemplated step was wrong and no amount of persuasion would induce me to go contrary to his wishes. Not only would he cause me to see things his way on these occasions, but he would insert some request, some little point he wanted me to look up in the Bible or history for him, so that my mind became so full of interest in doing these things that my own ideas were submerged. I was told once by a girl friend who was hurt at some little indiscretion on my part that I need not be so smart, my father was not always a preacher, while I, in the full confidence of religion and clerical importance, naturally supposed that he had been and replied to her sharply that ‘I knew better.’ “‘Well, I know better, too,’ she retorted, ‘for my papa knew him when he was a bad, wicked man, so there, now!’ “I was so hurt and humiliated that I burst into tears, and made no reply but went home and running into my father’s arms, I cried and sobbed until I was sure I should die; it was a long time before I could calm myself sufficiently to answer questions which my father and mother poured in upon me. Finally I told them the circumstances; I noted the pallor which spread over papa’s face, but mistook it. I thought he was angry.