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peas. She "sent away" for rose bushes. The name of the rose has long faded from memory but not the color - a lovely pink. Long after the row of sweet peas and the pink rose, time came when I could go into the garden Ora and Henry shared with Edith and me - where I could gather armsful of flowers from early Spring through each season of the year. Our last family garden was the source of great pleasure to all of us. To me it was something deeper than mere pleasure. It was a spot where the frustrations of the business world would fall away - where mental weariness vanished in physical effort. Beyond that, it was the fulfillment of a childhood longing to work with Nature in an effort to create things of beauty - not alone for my own gratification, but to share with all who might find beauty in the modest violet - the stately lily or a bank of roses. It is December 11, 1886 - the day I came to join our family living a short way up the path from "The Mill" where Father was employed. The things Mother told me about the days when I was very young is the basis for my memory of those very early years. She frequently told me of the care our oldest brother, Alvin, took of me, relieving her for the many tasks of caring for our large family. I seem to recall Alvin taking me for a ride in the "wheel-barrow", stopping for my first visit with the old white mule that