Prosperity had been with them as well; but, alas, they showed too well the ravages of time and the marks left by labor. They were aged even beyond their years, while for Mattie and I time had seemed to stand still. We went to “meeting,” now held in a beautiful little church, instead of the old school house. The boys I had played with in my youth were there, grown into men, many of them old before their time. When I looked around I could see in every bent back, knotted hand and furrowed brow what I might have grown into, and shuddered. Father probably understood my thoughts, for on the way home, when I told him what money I had made, he said, “I am not sure, Jim, but perhaps you are right. At least I can see what you might have done had you stayed on the farm. And, Jim, your wife is charming.” One day while in Chicago I said to my wife: “Mattie, do you remember the circumstance of a man calling on you a number of years ago who said he was a corn doctor and the awful mess he made in treating your foot?” “Do I remember him?” and her wrath seemed to rise at the thought. “I should say I do, and I would like to treat him—with—a dip in the lake.” “Then, throw your husband in,” I said, looking her straight in the face; “I am that corn doctor.” She was so surprised at my answer that she could not say a word, but sat staring at me with wide open eyes. There we sat for some moments, looking into each other’s faces, until both broke into a long and hearty laugh. All this occurred some years ago, and I don’t think my wife has altogether overcome the desire to give me a dip in the lake. At any rate, if I ever happen to displease her she says she thinks the time is surely coming to carry out her threat. I am now a happy and prosperous man. My family enjoys all of the comforts and many of the luxuries of life, and the sound of the wolf growling at the door is only a distant echo, reminding me that once at times I was destitute, and that I should not forget those who are unfortunate now. What more could a reasonable being ask for? No more, I am sure. As I said in my introductory remarks, this book is written with a view of showing the inner workings of a successful fakir, as well as to amuse those people generous enough to peruse its pages. I hope it has kept within its range. The world is round and wide, and on its surface is found all kinds of people. Some take to this and some to that occupation. All have not the same inclination, and therefore we should be generous in our thoughts towards those who do differently from us. In his way a blacksmith is as good as a doctor, a hod carrier as good as a merchant, a clerk as good as his employer, a cobbler as good as a lawyer, and a fakir as good as a statesman. The president of the United States is no better than the poorest man who helped to elect him.