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shared intimately each others' interests and experiences. The longer I live the more thankful I am to have been raised in a large family.

Many are the meals Mother has served to those not in our family circle, chore boys hired for the winter, chance workers from nearby fields, friends from town, conference guests, passing strangers, including tramps. One appreciative dinner or luncheon guest was Sister Hodnut, who lived at the Green. She came to America in response to an advertisement for a wife. She had to get acquainted with a new husband, learn a new language and new ways. Her heart overflowed with happiness at the least offer of friendship. When walking to and from town she often called at our house to rest. It was not easy to understand her words but her pleasure and gratitude at the offer of something to eat was readily felt and understood. One New Year's Eve, Ella Amelia, Chris and I walked to the Green to pay her a visit. She was overjoyed to see us. She lighted the small candles on her Christmas tree and served us with a glass of homemade hop beer, all the time laughing and talking in Danish. When Chris replied with a few words in her native tongue, she was ecstatically surprised.

Hans Sorensen's mother, too, another Danish convert, was a special friend of Mother's. We often called on her when in town. In her tender Danish brogue she always called me "Little Amy" and never failed to take me to a framed picture on the wall of a missionary group and asks "Which one is Hans, Little Amy?" She and Mother were Relief Society visiting teachers and after she moved to Mt. Carmel she would walk up to the Section, and from there they would go on together to town. If they had to visit homes on the east side of town, they would take the short cut down our lane and across the creek. The bridge made of stepping stones, large rocks, not always too close together. Amelia and I sometimes walked that far with them, and I can see them yet gathering up their long skirts to keep the hems out of the water. Unless careful to keep one's balance, it was no trick at all to stumble and fall--I know.

Mary Jane, or Grandma Meeks, was perhaps her closest and most companionable friend. She was more outward going than Mother, and during her frequent evening strolls, she would call in for a sociable chat or visit. She was a convert from Ireland and had an interesting life history--or did she just make it so by her attitudes. Her emotions were contagious, and she would first have us near tears with her overflowing sympathy for some "poor soul" and the next moment laughing at some experience, person, or thing she found so hilariously funny. She would quote the Bible, Ben Franklin or a neighbor, to back up her own philosophy, which many times, I thought, equaled or surpassed theirs. Her husband, many years her senior, was an herb doctor, and she learned much from him. She was a midwife and otherwise helped out in sickness. She gave freely of herself and her substance, and, I am sure, at one time or another, she brought cheer and comfort into every home in town. We valued her friendship deeply, and she was always a welcome visitor in our home.

Many people stayed at our house overnight; out-of-town visitors and school friends, especially our sisters' girls near our own ages. It was never a surprise to see Sarah, the oldest grandchild, turn the Point carrying a small bundle under her arm. We knew she was coming for the night, a few days, or "until the next Sunday". From babyhood she had to contend with poor health, and with her refined sensitive nature, she longed for the peaceful atmosphere she found at the Section. She always said, "Grandma and Grandpa are so good to me. It seems like they understand me better than my own parents." Martha and Emily came with me most often. We would play or read in the attic, climb the orchard trees, wade up and down the creeks or roam the hills at will. There was always something interesting to do at Grandma and Grandpa's. We girls, in turn, stayed overnight with them in town, especially after parties and dances, and we were always like one of the family in our sister's home.

I remember Mother's patience, her quiet dignity, her tenderness, her thrifty management, and admirable self-control. She was retiring in her nature and one of the least talkative at a quilting or carpet-rag bee. One afternoon she, with Mary Jane Meeks and Susan Heaton, spent an afternoon at the home of Louise Spencer head matron of the United Order. On the way home Susan lowered her tone and commented "I didn't enjoy the visit today like I thought I would. Mary Jane talked so much I didn't get a word in edgewise." After Susan turned the corner to go to her home, Mary Jane chuckled, "That Susan, when she is around you can't hear anyone else. I didn't have a very good time with her doing all the talking."

In spite of Mother's self-consciousness, she made an efficient counselor in the Relief Society after we moved to town. Her sermons were given by example more than by precept.

Mother was always busy without bustling. I can see her at the Section supervising the cooking, making yeast, skimming milk, churning and working over the butter. Brother Chamberlain frequently bought grain and butter and eggs from our farm. He said, "Sister Carroll sells the biggest pounds of butter and the largest dozen of eggs of any one I know." She weighed her butter one or two ounces over the pound, and her eggs were thirteen to a dozen.

In early times we often used candles to save kerosene and made paper spills to save matches. Amelia and I have held the candle molds many times while Mother adjusted the wicks and poured the melted tallow into them to make candles. When lessons were over she would blow out the lighted lamp, and we could do our talking by the firelight. Those days demanded thrift with everything that was bought with cash but we were never stinted with the products of the farm or anything obtained by our own hard labor.

Mother was a widow for twenty-five years but never lost interest in living. She kept busy in the house or garden, knitting, mending, choring about, keeping things tidy inside and out. She was not the inveterate reader that Father was, especially current news and fiction, but she enjoyed church books and magazines. Most of the fiction she was exposed to was through my reading aloud to her during uninterrupted evenings.

Mother's example to her posterity is one of undeviating honesty and truthfulness; quiet efficiency, deep loyalty to friends, home, husband, and country; sincere religious faith and good works; and most of all--a clean mind, a pure heart, and a tender mother's love.

She loved beauty in nature, the flower garden, pictures on the walls and choice pieces of china for her cupboard. Her family and home filled Mother's needs for comfort and happiness. She cared for both with tender solicitation and in them found life's richest reward.

FAMILY NAMES AND CHILDREN IN THE FAMILY

Carrolls and Their Names:

Our family name came from Ireland in the sixteenth century with our oldest known ancestor, James O'Carroll. He settled in Canada. His son, Patrick, is our grandfather. When his children started to school, he dropped the Irish "O", and from that time our family name has been Carroll.

The descendants of Carrolls in America have spread to practically every state in the union and have aided as much in the growth of the country as their ancestors did in the growth of the nation. They have been noted for their energy, industry, integrity, perseverance, fortitude, resourcefulness, initiative, mental and physical strength, courage, and leadership.

"Names highly favored are Donald, Daniel, David, John, Anthony, Charles, Henry, Ephraim, Samuel, Thomas, William and James." -- contributed by Anne Porter Seaman, from a Genealogical Record loaned to her.

The Giles:

The Giles are noted for their dauntless courage, moral and physical strength, industry, faith in God and in humanity, and their mental ability.

Names most favored: Edward, John, Thomas, Joseph, Samuel, William and Benjamin.

The Children of Charles Negus Carroll:

First Family: wife, Lucy Elizabeth McInelly, born 15 March 1829

1. Willard, born 10 May 1848; married Charlotte Moulton. They had eleven children, three girls and eight boys.

2. George, born 30 September 1849; died 5 July 1854.

3. Frederick, born 8 April 1851; died 17 June 1854.

4. Emma, born 3 March 1853; died 17 June 1854.

Second family: wife, Kezia Giles, born 20 May 1840

5. Kezia Ann, born 13 December 1857; married Henry Webster Esplin. Children: Ten girls and two boys.

6. Charles William, born 7 October 1859; married Susan Amelia Snyder. Children: Two girls and four boys.

7. Lucy Elizabeth, born 18 March 1862; married Jonathan Keaton. Children: Five girls and six boys.

8. Sarah Jane, born 2 February 1864; married Alvin Franklin Keaton. Children: Two girls and four boys.

9. Mary Lovina, born 4 September 1866; married Fred Walker Keaton. Children: Three girls and six boys.

10. Emma Elizabeth, born 6 October 1868; married Daniel Seegmiller. Children: one girl and four boys.

11. Frederick Giles, born 4 September 1870; married Clara Isabelle Esplin. Children: Two girls and five boys.

12. George Franklin, born 20 August 1872; married Clarissa Amy Terry Heaton. Children: Seven girls and three boys.

13. Irene, born 1 March 1874; died 18 April 1874.

14. Edward, born 23 January 1875; married Maria Bowers. Children: Two boys.

15. Eleanor, born 23 January 1875; married James Christian Colander. Children: Five boys.

16. Julia May, born 1 May 1877; married Howard Chamberlain.

Children: Three girls and one boy.

17. Amelia, born 28 March l880; married Joseph William Keaton. Children: Seven girls and three boys. (Amelia was the only one to follow Mother's example in having a pair of twins)

18. Amy born 30 December 1882; married Ephraim George Stark. Children: One girl and one boy.

The Giles family has piled up quite a record for holding positions of responsibility and service in both civic and church organizations, in Heber and elsewhere. Mother's branch of the family has carried on in the same pattern.

Fred and Ed were both patriarchs; Ed, a bishop; Charley, first counselor in the bishopric; Fred, a first counselor in the Kanab Stake Presidency; his son Rulon, a bishop, and both Fred and George served in the mission field.

Each of Mother's nine girls had a son in the bishopric of their respective wards, either as bishop or counselor. Each of them had a daughter or daughters in the presidency of the Relief Society, either as president or a counselor. Her daughters and granddaughters have also served in similar positions in the YLMIA and in Primary. Many of them have been class teachers in all these organizations. The fourth generation is now on the scene.

SHORT SKETCHES OF FATHER'S CHILDREN

WILLARD

My brother, Willard, moved to Orderville the fall before Father did. He had married Charlotte Moulton in Heber when he was twenty-one. With them, were their three children: Jim, Tom and Lizzie. Willard was put right into the school room for he had both teaching ability and experience. I remember going one winter to his school. After the Order broke up, he lived in a house on the east corner of the block nearest the creek. When small, I remember playing there one Sunday afternoon. A jolly crowd we were, running noisily up and down the stairway and banging doors. All the adults were in Church, and when we saw them coming down the sidewalk, we quickly donned our best behavior. I really don't remember them at the Section, but they must have visited as the rest of the family did. I remember clearly their moving to Mexico, and how badly we felt the morning we said our good-byes. Lucy was then the baby.

I asked Mother once how she, a bride of seventeen, got along with a nine-year old son. "We got along fine" she answered. "If there was ever any trouble it was between his father and him, and I didn't interfere".

In a short sketch of his life, his daughter, Lizzie, writes, "his new mother proved to be a wonderful companion and help, and throughout his life, Father -always spoke of this second mother with love and tenderness."

Willard had a brilliant mind and was a natural leader in public activities. He died in Mexico, later his family moved back to the United States settling in Blanding, Utah.

Willard's family especially Toed and his wife Amy, have done most of the genealogical research that has been done for the Carroll line. Jane named her oldest son for Willard and Kezia a grandson.

Father often read aloud Willard's letters from Mexico, and the names of the towns they lived in while he farmed and taught school sounded foreign and unpronounceable - Colonia Pacheco, Chihuahua, Casa Grande, Colonia Dublan, Juarez. Reading Willard's letters often took Father back to his experiences with his first family and their life in Canada. We always enjoyed and often asked Father to recite the poem he composed when leaving his native land. Knowing that some of his posterity will appreciate and treasure a copy of one of his poems, I will include it in these few memories of the only surviving member of his Canadian family.

FAREWELL

by Charles Negus Carroll

Farewell, farewell, New Brunswick the country of my birth

Where I've passed the scenes of childhood in pleasure and in mirth.

Farewell ye fields and forests, ye lakes and rivers, too,

Farewell, farewell, New Brunswick bid you now adieu.

Farewell my friends and kindred, according to the flesh.

It grieves me much to leave you in sorrow and distress.

But a voice from Zion calls me, the spirit whispers too.

Farewell, farewell, my kindred, I now bid you adieu.

Farewell my friends and neighbors that have been kind to me.

Your memory I will cherish wherever I shall be.

But judgments here are threatened, I must not stay with you.

Farewell, kind-hearted neighbors, I now bid you adieu.

Farewell ye honest hearted that in this country stay.

Repent, believe the Gospel and God's commands Obey.

Then gather up and follow the Heaven's favored few

Until we meet in Zion, adieu, adieu, adieu

The following letters written by Willard at the time of Fathers last illness and death might be interesting to some of the family.

Mr. Chas. W. Carroll Orderville, Kane Co., Utah

Dublan Mav 30th 1902

Dear Brothers,

I received your letter this evening. It brought me the first intimation of Father's declining health. I have not heard from home for so long. My prayers are that our father may yet be spared to us so long as life may be desirable. I recall a promise that many days should be added to his life and trust it may be so. Oh, how I would like to see you all. We are in the enjoyment of good health except our two youngest (Lizzie's), who with her family have been visiting relatives in Mancos, Colorado for 15 months; our youngest, Nina May, was born there and will be a year old the 3rd of June. Tell sister May to send her namesake a piece of ribbon. I have now two sons and two daughters married six grandchildren, all boys. I have ten children at home--6 boys and 4 girls. Jas & Thos lost a saw mill last week at Pacheco. Sadie lives here at Dublan, her husband is Baily Lake. Moulton is 23, not married. We have not had either snow or rain in Dublan this year, there has been 2 or 3 light showers in Pacheco. There will be some fair crops of wheat that is nearly ready for harvest. There is prospect of a good fruit crop. Do let me know how you all_ are. Father said he would get you, my brothers and sisters to write but this is the first I have heard.

Affectionately your brother,

Willard Carroll

P.S. I left out part of the letter. The value of the lost mill was $3000 of which Jas and Thos owned a third. Their boys and Lizzie all live at Pacheco.

Dublin, June 5 - 1902

Charles W. Carroll Orderville, Utah

Dear Brother, Yours of the 26 of May announcing Father's death just received.

That his days ended in peace, ripe in years, and in the bosom and love of his family is a source of consolation. May each of his sons emulate his worthy example, that we and all his posterity may be worthy to meet and associate with him and our other dear ones is my earnest and sincere desire.

Dear Aunt Kezia, May the peace of heaven attend you and our Heavenly Father comfort you.

Dear brothers and sisters, May our love and union never diminish and our record be such that our dear Father will be proud to welcome us when the final call from earth is made of us.

In love and sympathy your brother,

Willard Carroll

KEZIA

Kezia, the oldest of Mother's ten girls, and the only brown-eyed one in our family of fourteen, was a bundle of energy. She was never idle, circumstances and a large family not allowing the luxury of leisure.

My first memory of Kezia is of being in her home at Moccasin, Arizona. She had five children then and a very small house. She found time to teach school for the younger children on the ranch.

In the late eighties and early nineties there was much agitation against the Mormons for the practice of polygamy. All children were alerted to the danger of talking to strange men, especially those who came in white-top buggies, for that was the mode of travel of the U.S. deputy marshals assigned to our district. They tried to surprise the suspects at odd hours of the day or night, thereby catching the husband and father at the home of a plural family. The children were told not to tell their Mother's or Father's name to inquiring strangers. If about to be caught, all of the family would scatter like a brood of partridges in all directions, even a deputy couldn't run in every direction at once. While Father did not marry into polygamy, his five oldest daughters did. In the days of most danger, Kezia and Lucy lived at Moccasin, thirty deep-sand miles away in Arizona.

When the polygamy problems had been settled to the government's satisfaction, Kezia moved to the Esplin Farm, a mile above town. The three-room house was at the edge of green fields with a background of picturesque hills. The low knoll, just back of the house, held our particular interest, for on its summit was the tiny grave of a baby who had died while its parents were fleeing from the Indians during the early days of colonizing the Valley. We often gathered flowers to decorate the grave.

By pre-arrangement with both our mothers Kezia's girls and Amelia and I would stay all night with each others in spite of our homes being two miles apart. In those days there was always room for one more. When Kezia's new house was built in town, we had much more room to expand. Her long table, the length of the diningroom, leaves with me the most vivid impressions. Bishop, which was Henry's givenname to me, sat at the head of the table, Kezia near him - and the kitchen door. On both sides and the far ends was crowded a family of 411 ages and to these add several guests. "Spread with the bounties of life" is a fitting description of Kezia's table at mealtimes, an abundance of good food, well cooked, tastily seasoned and partaken of eagerly. No one was turned away from their warm hospitality.

Other pleasant memories of Kezia take me to North Fork where she was homesteading. The whole beautiful location was buzzing with activity. Aside from the family there was several hired men, and often passers-by, although it was more remote then than it is now, what with its present good roads and park attractions. Night and morning there was the corral full of cows with bawling calves in a nearby pen; the milking to be done, the butter and cheese to be made --and time off for the daily treat of curd; vegetables to gather and meals to help prepare.

The afternoons gave us a respite, and we usually followed the steep road down Black Rock ledge to the creek below. There were few swimming holes but the water was cold anyhow, and wading was a lot of fun. The smell of green grass and mountain pines, the atmosphere heady with oxygen, and flowers growing profusely everywhere are choice memories stored from the carefree days of our youth.

Wherever Kezia lived her home was a beehive of activity, a favorite place for afternoon visits, quiltings, and family gatherings. Through it all she found time to direct, prompt or take part in theatrical productions, give public readings and serve as an officer or teacher in church organizations. In her seventies she was still president of the Primary, giving and receiving devotion and love. She certainly set a good example for all her younger sisters.

CHARLEY

From our front porch, we could look across the road to the east and see Charley work one of his fields that was near the Section. I remember while still quite young Mother always sent us through the fence to tell Charley and the boys when dinner was ready. He often brought Hardy and Ernest with him. They were his two oldest children and near the ages of Amelia and me. When they were tired of following the plow, playing in the field ditch or making willow whistles they would wander over to the house and the four of us found plenty to keep us busy. Climbing the hills was one favorite time consumer, and one lazy afternoon we decided to cut in two the low, clay hill above the barn. With a hoe and a dull fire-shovel we selected the narrowest ridge and went to work. The further we went down the wider the hill became, and like all engineers, we had our problems. We worked at it spasmodically many an afternoon, but as the excavation deepened we found it harder and harder to put the necessary strength on the shovel, also to drag out the excess dirt. So finally the project was closed down. But we had made a deep impression upon the topography of the hill's contour which remained for years after we were grown. The slow process of erosion finally effaced the results of four children's answer to the question, "What shall we do?"

One day when we went to call Charley for dinner, we found him and the boys sitting in the shade of the willows spreading out their lunch. We urged them to come, but Charley said, "No, the boy's mother thinks it is too much to ask my mother to prepare dinner for so many extra people. She has enough of her own to work for."

When we reported this to Mother, she was hurt and replied "It is not hard work when you do it for your own. I enjoy having Charley and the boys to dinner. It gives us a little time to visit, now, we will scarcely ever see him." And that was true, for when we went to town it seemed more natural to go to our sister's home, than to our brother's. However, I did play with his daughter Jennie occasionally on a Sunday afternoon. Mother said Charley, more than any of her other boys, was handy about the house, fixing and repairing all sorts of things. He was very friendly and possessed a quiet sense of humor.

Charles moved to Provo, Utah, in the early nineteen hundreds and later to Palo Alto, Californian to be near Joseph. His wife Amelia died there but Charley kept house for himself until he was ninety-seven when his daughter, Maurice, took him to her home in Stockton. He is now (1958) in his ninety-ninth year. (On Oct. 7, the year of publication of this manual, he turned one hundred with a mind clear and active.)

In recent Daughters of the Utah Pioneers lesson pamphlets his daughter-in-law, Elsie closes a brief sketch of his life with the following:

"I wanted especially to ask him for some stories he could tell of experiences during the years he was a probate officer in Southern Utah, and became known as a sort of 'father confessor' who could get closer to young people in trouble more often than their own parents. I would like to absorb some of his philosophy which has enabled him to meet the loss of a teenage son, a beautiful daughter, Jennie, just merging into womanhood and a doctor son, Hardy, just beginning his practice, with courage and fortitude. I would like to have him describe what he did to inspire and steer three sons to eminence--a medical doctor who had achieved success in a few short years of practice, a PhD professor, Ernest, now serving humanity as a technical advisor in Iran, and an internationally known electrical engineer, Joseph, now directing the famous Ryan laboratory at Stanford University."

LUCY

Moccasin, with its several families, was Lucy's permanent home. At different times Kezia, Jane and Vine lived there, too. Jane and Vine were first wives and never had to go underground, but the five Heaton brothers worked together for quite sometime, and their agricultural and livestock interests were centered at Moccasin the year round. However in the summertime, their sheep grazed the mountain ranges and valleys--Strawberry being their summer paradise. But that is another story.

Moccasin is an oasis in the desert, a desert with hills and low mountains close by, only five miles east of Pipe Springs. Generous springs furnish sufficient

water for orchards, gardens, and fields and the dark, loamy soil produced garden vegetables, vineyards of luscious grapes, a variety of orchard fruits, and melons that are unexcelled for quality, size, and flavor.

I remember sleeping with mother in Lucy's soft bed, the sun opening our eyes at four in the morning as it peeped over the orchard and into the open bedroom door. In the pleasant twilight we all gravitated to the long front porch where the grownups talked of such very interesting things, leaving us children torn with the decision of whether to stay and listen or go and play tag, hide-and-seek, or run-sheep-run. There was always a high swing to test our courage as to who dared go the farthest into outer space, the boys providing the atomic energy for the take-off.

The reservoir afforded us the most fun. The path to it took us through sand so hot we would use our bonnets or swimming dresses as frequent standing platforms on which to cool our bare feet. It was there I learned to swim and was very proud of my accomplishment. The Indians used the reservoir, too, and if they arrived first, we would have to wait awhile for the irrigation outlet to clear the "contaminated" water

After one July 24th celebration, Emily and I went for a visit and stayed six weeks. With Lucy's two girls our age, Esther and Kezia, we made quite a dynamic foursome. We did our share of work and still had time on our hands. We hunted wild strawberries, picked the geese for feather pillows, went in swimming every day but one, that one being missed so I could honestly keep my promise to mother "not to go in swimming every day". One day we got venture-some and explored the "Boiling Spring" up in the meadow. It was supposed not to have a bottom. The water was clear and cold and came boiling up from a deep round hole. We screamed and shivered as we tested it with our toes, then little by little slipped in. We waded around in the shallow ditch, then slowly inched into the freezing "boiling cauldron". We needn't have worried about its being bottomless for the stream of water came up with such force it was impossible for us to lower ourselves against its vehement impact. Kezia "thought" she touched bottom once with her toes

One time we jumped on the back of a wagon driven by a young Indian. He was hauling rock from a nearby canyon, and we went for the ride. Four of us must have overwhelmed him, for although he knew Esther and Kezia well, we couldn't get him to talk. (As for me, I thought, "What a good chance he has to murder us all.")

There was always good eating at Lucy's, but nothing tasted better than her suppers of bread and milk and Moccasin onions. We climbed the orchard trees for peaches and for different kinds of grapes tangled among some of the limbs. One evening about dusk, we went to a tree we had spotted earlier in the day. Its white meaty fruit was just getting ripe. We filled a white flour sack about half full, then cautiously smuggled it through the back door and upstairs to our bedroom. After we "went to bed", we spent the long evening until midnight reading novels and eating peaches.

Any time of a late afternoon, we might expect to see one of the boys or men coming up the lane with a huge watermelon tucked under each arm, a signal for a small or large "melon bust." Often some of the Indians found it handy to be around then. And we always had melon for dessert at mealtimes, where we flipped seeds at each other with well-aimed accuracy and always at the one least expecting it. Ed loved to surprise his mother most of all.

There was always so much fun and laughter, warmth and friendliness at Lucy's that everyone felt "at home", whether it was the hired hands, the way-side traveler, business men, political or church dignitaries, a sick Indian, or a needy tramp--all found a rich supply of physical succor and emotional comfort and cheer.

Lucy was as busy as any mother with a large family, with always several, and often many, extras to do for, but somehow she salvaged time for the cheerful word, contagious laughter, the "need it now" demands from the many coming and going in out of her home.

When Lucy comes to my mind, I so often recall, "The Vision of Sir Launfal" by James Russell Lowell:

"Not what we give but what we share, for the gift without the giver is bare, who gives himself with his alms feeds three; himself, his hungry neighbor, and me."

JANE

It was in the Garden House that Jane lived and raised her family. It was built close to the high ditch bank, the first house after turning Clay Point to go up Sand Street, a tall building having an upstairs and a terraced back yard. Two families had lived in it at times in two-room apartments with a front hall dividing them. The large upstairs was not partitioned, being used during the Order as a convenient place to dry select garden seeds of all kinds. During her first married years Vine lived there, mostly during the winter. During the summer, she vent to Moccasin, Harris Claim, and Strawberry, wherever Fred was sent to help look after the Heaton business interests, whether it was agriculture or shepherding.

The Garden House with Jane was our stand-by stopping place when we drove to town, our other married sisters being often on ranches or out-of-town farms. Amelia, Martha, and I looked after the younger children or secluded ourselves in the back bedroom with our doll rags, playing house, or guiltily sewing for them on Sunday.

We sometimes stayed all night when Jane went to a dance or theater. She was very kind to us, getting from the mantle some of her pretty ornaments to adorn our playhouse also all the story books so colorfully illustrated Cinderella, Jack and the Bean Stalk, Babes in the Woods--how we cried over that one--also Hansel and Gretal. There were two volumes of Bible Stories for Children, one of the old and one of the New Testament. Then there were our school books if we wanted to play school. She always fixed something good for a lunch, too.

She was an exce11ent cook, and I have never forgotten her puffy, white, yeast biscuits her unexcelled egg-gravy, generously enriched with yellow butter and made with fresh milk; her mashed potatoes, light and white; fried ham; fresh vegetables in rich, hot cream; delicious layer cakes, and delectable pies--all eaten in full enjoyment, with never a hint of stopping before the appetite was fully satisfied.

From harvest time until late spring, her deep, dark basement was filled with bins of deliciously-flavored apples, of which she was very generous. We often ran up at recess time to get an "arm load". One noon Martha filled her apron, and she and I placed one on each desk in our room--the biggest and reddest one for the teacher.

Jane was particularly interested in young people, and Ella and Julia felt free to bring their friends at any time, after meetings, on holidays, or to get warm between sleigh rides and her handouts of cookies or pie or apples were freely accepted and enjoyed.

She was independent and courageous and had pride in her personal appearance, always well dressed even on work days--so neat and clean and elegant. She carried herself like a princess.

LOVINA

One summer afternoon when Vine and I were visiting, I asked her, "Vine, why have you always been so good to me?"

She was ninety years old but was still alert in mind and movement. She answered without hesitation. "I guess it is because I always liked you so much, from the time you were a baby, all through the years, I always wanted you with me". She was like a second mother to me, always in the right place at the right time. And that is the "story of our life".

I remember staying with her at the Garden House week-days while going to school one especially cold stormy winter. Fred was at the herd, and Lorene was still a baby. I went home on week-ends. After she moved to her new home across the creek, I never needed an excuse to spend the night there. I stayed just to stay, and if it wasn't my idea, then it was hers, and as Lorene grew older it was often hers

Fred was a brother-in-law that was really a brother, and he and Vine came into our home freely and frequently. It was Fred who gave the boys a wild, young fox he hed trapped and a wild duck he caught on the creek. Ed built a shallow pond in the ditch by the house to encourage the duck to feel at home. A slatted box covered it for protection. But wild life must have its freedom and the fox was gone one morning when Ed went to check on him, and after a few weeks the duck got the bright idea of "ducking under and out" with the flowing stream.

It was Fred and Vine who gave us our wonderful summer visits at Strawberry, and from there all over the mountains--to the head of Duck Creek where the whole stream comes up in one big spring, its clear waters sparkling and gurgling for a few miles through beautiful scenery to lose itself at the Sinks as suddenly and mysteriously as it appeared--on to Blow Hard where the herders claimed it was impossible to cook beans the altitude was so high. Always our favorite drive vas up the valley past Stode's Cabin, deserted and lonely past Bear Springs with a stop at Lars Canyon to visit the Collins then on to Strawberry Breaks, the place, it was claimed, where thunder was made and cloudbursts born. We looked with awe far down on the head of the Muddy and the rugged, black rocks and canyons of the North Fork country and on to the peaks of Zion Canyon. We visited Navaho Lake, then known as Duck Lake, waded and swam in its waters and if it was a dry summer, saw the Breathing Springs. Then there were fishing trips to Swains Creek and the Mammoth or horse back rides just to see the scenery.

I have always been deeply appreciative of these excursions into Nature, experiencing early in life the exhilaration of mountain air, the soft sighing of tall pines, firs, spruces, and aspens, noting their intermingling of foliage and colors, the birds twittering and nesting in hidden branches feeling the earth's soft green carpet under my feet enlivened with a myriad of blossoming flowers. Especially memorable are whole fields of blue lark-spurs all up and down the valley and edging into the trees, or up a hilly incline would emerge blue and white daisies, "pink buttercup clusters", red-bells, white yarrow, flaming Indian paint brush - and so many that to us were nameless. But the flower that touched our heart the most deeply was the ta11, white Crane's Bill or wild columbine. We often came upon it quite unaware--in a half hidden place behind a fallen log, with tall shady trees casting dark shadows as if to keep secret the domain of such exotic beauty

The log cabin we lived in was built in Willis Canyon in a beautiful setting. At the head of the short draw was a thick growth of quaking aspens with a background of dense spruce and pines--so dark and menacing it looked to us children, we never ventured into its shadowy depths. Sure, there were bears there. But out of it ran a sparkling mountain creek, more like a ditch, during high water flow had cut an interesting river bed with high banks, here and there wide sandy beaches, rippling narrows and deep pools. Up and down this stream was our favorite playground: wading, pin fishing, jumping from bank to bank, holding under its sparkling surface, grasses and leaves to see the magic color transformation from green to shining silver.

Our playhouse was across the creek not far below the corral. Its walls were made of four large pines, each one making the corner of a perfect square; on one side a tree had fallen to provide us a convenient couch. Behind it nature had arranged a beautiful bouquet, a cluster of tall, white columbines where we played at keeping house with our dolls and did our reading and sewing. Everywhere was peace and quiet, yet the atmosphere, though hushed, was teeming with movement, soft murmurs of pine scented branches, muted bird calls, the far-away bleating of the lambs. Peace and health and happiness were quietly and soothingly penetrating into our souls so deeply that even the memory after all these years has power to comfort and cheer.

Part of each summer during our growing years was spent at Strawberry, and the memories of what we did and saw and felt are among the treasured ones of my life. One summer it was planned for Father and Mother to come and get us, providing a little outing for them. The middle of the afternoon they were expected to arrive found the house swept and garnished and all of us freshly washed and combed, with clean dresses, ready to greet them when they arrived. We watched the road as far as we could see it, and when a covered wagon turned the bend, excitement ran high. It seemed to come so slowly we couldn't wait, so we ran to meet it. I remember how thrilled I was to see Mother and Father again, for at times, we did succumb to homesickness in spite of fun-packed days.

Vine, an early riser, was always ahead of her work, so we had plenty of spare time. We took daily walks, often to meet Fred coming from his work--mile up Stode's cabin, resting on the doorstep, feeling the empty loneliness of a home that was now deserted and wishing we could catch the voices of the past to people it with life and purpose. We gathered lots of long leaf pine gum to take home with us and handful of wild flowers for bouquets, and almost without fail we would linger on the Point and hunt for Indian arrowheads. It was almost unbelievable that, in spite of the years that herders and other

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