CHAPTER III 
     
    
   
   
    
     MY BOYHOOD HOME 
     
     My Parents 
     
    
   
   
    
     My father was brought up in Halifax, Nova Scotia. He came to 
     
     Prince Edward Island when he was a young man. After living for a 
     
     time with one of the south shore settlers he made his way through the 
     
     woods and began the hard task of clearing the farm on which I was 
     
     born and reared. He was a tall athletic man, of wonderful physical 
     
     strength and endurance. He walked to Charlottetown in one day, a 
     
     distance of sixty miles, and returned the next day, without fatigue. 
     
     He had great courage; he had met bears at night in the woods. 
     
    

    
     It was not long until he found his way to the “North Side” to 
     
     where we called, “Over the Lake,” there he found and fell in love with 
     
     my mother. She was a tall slender woman. She was gentle, self-posses- 
     
     sed, calm and patient. Father was considerate and kind, but it was to 
     
     mother we went with all our ills and aches. Pains and aches fled at 
     
     the soothing touch of her hand; and her gentle caress dried our tears. 
     
    
   
   
    
     She was our special confidant. 
     
    
   
   
    
     "Who ran to help me when I fell, 
     
     And did some pretty story tell, 
     
     And kiss the hurt to make it well? 
     
    

    
     My mother.” 
     
    
   
   
    
     There were ten children: seven boys and three girls; I was the 
     
     third from the youngest. A sister, younger than I, died when she was 
     
     about two years of age. The memory of her was indelibly stamped 
     
     upon my mind and had a good influence over my life. We should be 
     
     thankful for good parents and homes and strive to honour them. 
     
    
   
   
    
     "Sharper than a serpent’s tooth, it is 
     
    
   
   
    
     To have a thankless child.” 
     
    
   
   
    
     The Log House 
     
    
   
   
    
     The house in which I was born was built of logs of even size. They 
     
     were ingeniously dovetailed at the ends so they would come closer to- 
     
    
   
   
    
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