And now you are on your way to Northern Michigan, where your mother has a sister whose husband is paymaster at the Lake Superior Iron Mine. En route you stop at Providence where you are intrigued by the teams of twenty or more horses that pull freight cars through the downtown districts. You think it would be fine to be a teamster. At Thompsonville, Connecticut, you go to school for a few weeks. On circus day you are allowed to have a vacation. You ride a pony in the parade and ask your mother if you can’t join the circus and ride in the parades every day. It is your first day in the little mining town of Ishpeming. You are standing in the middle of the road watching children going home from school; the girls giggle, the boys laugh at the new boy in a too-big suit. One little girl has cute pigtails. You like her. You are now quite grown up, nearly ten. At a Sunday-school picnic you tell the little girl you are someday going back to Boston and learn to be an artist. You ask her to wait for you. She promises. With this important problem settled you can now give all of your attention to the question of how you are to get an art education. In the fall you go to school and somehow manage to pull through. Your uncle and aunt go for a visit “back East.” Your mother keeps house for your cousins. Every night when you go to bed you kneel down and ask God to tell your uncle to bring you a printing press, the kind with a lever, like the ones shown in the _Youth’s Companion_. Your uncle brings you an Ingersoll dollar watch. It is your second year in school. You now have a step-father. He is a fine man and you like him and he likes you--but of course you can’t expect him to pay for your art education. You are having trouble with arithmetic--something in division. Teacher says, “Take your books and go home, Willie, and remain until you have the correct answer.” You don’t like arithmetic, anyway. “Mother,” you ask, “may I go to work and earn money so I can learn to be an artist?” Your mother is troubled. Finally she says, “Perhaps it will be for the best.” You go to the office of the _Iron Agitator_, that later became _Iron Ore_. George A. Newett is the owner and editor. This is the George A. Newett and the newspaper that were later sued for libel by Theodore Roosevelt. The trial took place in Marquette, Michigan, and Mr. Roosevelt won a verdict of six cents. You are put to work washing-up a Gordon press. Then you receive your first lesson in feeding. There is power, a small engine mounted on an upright boiler, for the newspaper press. The two jobbers are kicked. Having half an hour of leisure you learn the lay of a lower-case beside the window--where you can proudly wave to the schoolchildren as they are going home to their noon meal. You are now a working man--wages three dollars a week.