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UNDER THE 
 KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Being The 
 
 Prairie Pioneer's 
 
 Primer 
 
 BY 
 HARRY P. SIMMONS 
 With Photographs 
 By The Author. 
 
 S Published by 
 
 THE MECHANICAL ARTS Co. 
 j« YORK NEBRASKA. 
 
 ) 1922 
 
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,Sfo 
 
 Copyright, 1922 
 
 By 
 
 Harry P. Simmons. 
 
 Mfl'i 15 72 
 
 g)CU674l37 
 
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Si 
 
 To the memory of one Keeper 
 of the Lamps, this little book is 
 dedicated by her son. 
 
PAX BEATA 
 
 I've closed my door and am all alone. 
 Here in my room, all fragrant with my 
 better self. 
 Here are my pictures that have waited long for 
 
 me; 
 Erasmus with his studious calm; 
 My playing children and my laughing girl. 
 My quaint stiff angels and my meek St. John — 
 They greet me as I come to them for rest. 
 Upon the shelves my other friends 
 Are waiting, too, for me; my friends 
 That take me far beyond my tiny room 
 And make its sunny space 
 A gleaming entrance into other lands. 
 There is my bed, where all the night 
 My body lies asleep 
 And leaves my soul quite free 
 To wander with the winds. 
 There is my window where 1 say my prayers 
 And look straight out upon the solid hills 
 
And listen for the rustle of the angels' wings. 
 
 My room, all sweet with flowers I love 
 
 That grov>/ for me because I love them; 
 
 All fragrant, too, v»'ith ghosts o^ flowers 
 
 That bloomed and drooped with me; 
 
 My room so still and quiet, yet astir 
 
 With all the souls of those that love and trust 
 
 me, 
 Outside the strife and struggle and the strain; 
 In here there's peace, and quietude and 
 
 strength — 
 I've closed my door and I am all alone. 
 
 SAINT LOUIS POST-DISPATCH 
 
M^. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 IV 
 
 V 
 
 VI 
 
 VII 
 
 VIII 
 
 IX 
 
 X 
 
 XI 
 
 XII 
 
 XIII 
 
 XIV 
 
 THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS ... I 
 
 THE LAMP ITSELF 17 
 
 THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS ' . . 29 
 
 THE COURTHOUSE SQUARE . . , 49 
 
 EVENING PEACE IN THE FIELDS . 71 
 
 FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY , 79 
 
 BASIN DAYS 99 
 
 SIGHTS &■ SOUNDS of YESTERDAY .III 
 
 OUR STREAMS AND VALLEYS 
 OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 SHEAVES OF WHEAT . . . 
 WINDY DAYS AND CALM . . 
 ALONG THE FENCE LINES . 
 SILENT TRAILS 
 
 131 
 145 
 169 
 179 
 193 
 209 
 
 tfd^''- 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Twilight on the Platte. Frontpiece 
 
 Soldier's monument, showing 
 
 Blue valley in the distance . 15 
 
 Above the dam in old days 
 
 at the "Seeley" mill . 38 
 
 A reminder of stereoscopic 
 
 photograph times . 60 
 
 Henry Blank on the road leading 
 to the home of his heart's desire 93 
 
 The stackyard, and 
 
 its surroundings . . .120 
 
 Bridge over a Nebraska stream, 
 
 well known to the public . 143 
 
 Thunderheads fading at sunset, 
 
 the stonn danger gone 179 
 
 Section of the abandoned 
 
 Erie and Ohio canal . .211 
 
T 
 
 he chapters contained herein, are 
 not to be considered biographi- 
 cal. That class of literature is reserved 
 for the great, and those who think they 
 are great. Q When the personal appears 
 it is to help bring to the reader long- 
 gone days and experiences of his or her 
 own; since so many things pertaining 
 to early life on the prairie were com- 
 mon to all of us. (j[ The beaten path, 
 has been avoided wherever possible to 
 make a detour. While some details 
 would fit daily lives in several western 
 states, the aim has been to m.ake this a 
 Nebraska book. Q It is hoped that the 
 illustrations will add to its value as a 
 souvenir, or an entertainer for sister's 
 beau. Actual photographs direct from 
 the negatives, surely increase the cost 
 of production. 
 
 H.P.S. 
 
 York, Nebraska. 
 April, 1922. 
 
^ ^ ^ 
 
 THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS 
 
 About forty years ago at the close of a beauti- 
 ful June day, a small boy— future citizen of the 
 Nebraska prairies, studied the sky closely with a 
 very anxious look. All signs were favorable for 
 the morrow to be as perfect as the day just fad- 
 ing into twilight. With a little sigh of relief he 
 turned from the window and took to his bed a 
 full hour earlier than usual; for he must arise 
 very early the next morning, doing so willingly 
 and eagerly, which would be unusual. 
 
 A boy takes to water just as naturally as any 
 duck ever dared to do; but the boy may in time 
 outgrow the habit, while the duck keeps pad- 
 dling around, even in old age. On the western 
 plains of years ago, boys were raised far from 
 their native element; and the few fishing excur- 
 sions to some little stream— miles away perhaps, 
 
 1 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 were days of riotous joy looked foward to with 
 burning eagerness. 
 
 Frequently the boy's holiday combined busi- 
 ness and pleasure. Going to mill, was the pri- 
 mary object of some of these excursions. Fish- 
 ing or other recreations relating to water could 
 be indujged in while waiting for the "grist. The 
 June trip was more liable to come as a reward 
 for faithfulness to farm duties, since little milling 
 was done at that time of year. No matter which 
 reason allowed the day's outing, the starved soul 
 of the prairie boy welcomed it gladly. 
 
 So to the one with small opportunity for youth- 
 ful pleasures naturally craved, this drive of a doz- 
 en miles or more across the newly settled land was 
 an event of the year rivalling the visit of the one- 
 ring circus at the county seat. Who, unless he 
 has lived the part, can picture that early morning 
 ride along the road which curved not an inch in 
 all the miles unless the surveyor had made a mis- 
 take, or at the county line where the correction 
 for curvature of the earth's surface was made— a 
 thing too technical for small boys. 
 
 2 
 
THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS 
 
 It did seem so strange that others should be 
 going about their farm duties as usual that morn- 
 ing. But there they were, hitching up their 
 teams and going out to plow corn just as if such 
 a day at the river had never been theirs to en-, 
 joy and revel in. 
 
 The corn rows were like so many bright lines 
 of green on the black soil newdy turned by the 
 plow, and extending straight acrcss the field to 
 such a distance that the eastern farmer would 
 not believe it if we told him. The boy formed 
 his opinion of the owner of the field by the 
 straightness cf the corn rows. If they did not 
 sag in the middle, or have any little wobbly 
 crooks here and there — the owner was a man of 
 ability. But on the contrary, if these rows swerv- 
 ed and curved around most anywhere, the boy 
 was quite sure of the owner's mental weakness, 
 or at least his indecision of character. 
 
 During the last mile of that early morning 
 ride, a double bow-knot tied in a corn row would 
 not have attracted the lad's attention; for was net 
 the river just ahead ? In a few minutes when 
 
 3 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 the crest in the rise of the road was reached, the 
 expanse of water above the dam lay flashing in 
 the bright sun. 
 
 There — at last — lay the river in its beautiful 
 valley cf grasses below; and for miles up or down 
 stream the course C3uld be followed by the thick 
 fringe of timber which bordered the banks cxse- 
 ly — so closely indeed that the sxall stream was 
 completely hidden. 
 
 With just a little awe and a slight shiver, the 
 urchin viewed the waters above the dam; for he 
 had heard of people being drowned there while 
 boating or fishing; and — well, he only saw it 
 once a year and couldn't feel just as one might 
 who lived near and became familiar with the 
 spectacle. The Ohio or Mississippi at present 
 at any point cf their picturesque valleys, could 
 not bring up such a feeling as did the first sight 
 of the little Blue, running so slowly and quietly 
 through that valley of the prairies. 
 
 And now there is the bridge below the dam — 
 almost over-arched with treetops. Such trees ! 
 After a year, perhaps, with no sight cf timber 
 
 4 
 
THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS 
 
 other than the struggling cottonwoods and box- 
 alders, it seemed like the entrance to a veritable 
 forest. The sound of water falling over the dam 
 and the rumbling of the mill, made complete the 
 illusion of a new land of wonder. Even the horses 
 were so little accustomed to the ways of advanc- 
 ing civilization, that they started over the bridge 
 very cautiously, jumping at the sound of their 
 own footsteps on the planking. 
 
 At the mi]l stables, the farmer's horses were 
 always welcome. But to the boy who WtS in- 
 debted to the team for a ride over the prairie road 
 that morning, it seemed almost a waste of time 
 to be compelled to assist in unhitching the ani- 
 mals, before he — the boy, not the team — was 
 turned loose for the day, after many warnings 
 against falling into that deep water above the 
 wonderful dam. 
 
 For the first half hour or so, there wouM be 
 a survey in general of things in the neighborhood 
 of the mill. Then all finny inhabitants cf the 
 stream who happened to be loafing around in the 
 vicinity, were given the chance cf their lives to 
 
 5 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 get out and live more quiet and genteel lives in 
 the seclusion of the stock tanks. 
 
 For at this time in his career, eating them did 
 not appeal to the boy at all. Just to "take them 
 home alive," was the sole idea. Those tanks of 
 heavy plank staves held togethet with iron bands, 
 made aquariums of a high order. Here the cat- 
 tle and horses stood long and drank deep when 
 the summer south wind blew. But back to the 
 particular scene of the day. 
 
 Sitting in the shade cf the mill, where the 
 water came out from the wheel-pit — with a wil- 
 low pole suitably placed to control a cotton line 
 attached thereto, in case the floating cork fasten- 
 ed to said line took on a violent bobbing move- 
 ment, there was now a fine opportunity to spec- 
 ulate on other things pertaining to rivers and wa- 
 ters; for at times the catfish and redhorse were 
 very negligent as to their duty in biting, so the 
 youthful dreamier could let his thoughts wander 
 with little danger of interruption. 
 
 But just as all other accidents in life come 
 when least expected — there would be a few quick 
 
 6 
 
THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS 
 
 bobbings of the cork, then under water it went 
 before the boy was able to collect his wits. He 
 made a wild pull which had none of the grace of 
 a real angler in it. The fish simply cut thru the 
 air, and landed far out in the tall weeds or brush; 
 and must be hunted like some native of the dry 
 land. After one of these hunts for the game on 
 the banks, the boy made up his mind to pull in 
 a more dignified and self-pcssessed manner the 
 next time, but there is no proof that he ever 
 made a success of it. 
 
 Perhaps the steady rumble of the mill helped 
 the lad's mood for dreaming, as the music of an 
 orchestra helps the expression of ideas in a play. 
 At any rate it was here by the millrace, with the 
 sound of water falling over the dam in a mono- 
 tone varying only as the summer breeze rose or 
 fell among the treetops — that the boy first really 
 dreamed of the world outside; and of the big riv- 
 ers which he hoped to see some day. But it was 
 a dream that was to last all the boyhood days and 
 all the years, until it became a reality. Stream 
 worship was instilled for a lifetime. 
 
 7 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 The school geography held about all the printed 
 information concerning rivers and other bodies 
 of water which was available to the boy at the 
 time. However there was another source, an oral 
 one,, handed down like the traditions of the 
 tribes. His grandfathers and possibly a neighbor 
 or two, had come years before from the distant 
 lands along the Ohio. To the boy they had told 
 tales about steamboats, and of life on the rivers 
 and canals. With this connecting link to the 
 subject, which, in some way, had become of such 
 great interest to him, the imagination was stim- 
 ulated to outdo itself. Just then, there was noth- 
 ing farther from his thoughts than writing tales 
 forty years afterward from that same valley cf the 
 Ohio, with whistles of steamboats mellowed by 
 distance, helping to bring recollections of this 
 long gone fishing day. 
 
 And then — dinnertime. Those things which 
 mother had put up that morning tasted extraor- 
 dinarily good out under the trees, and with such 
 novel surroundings. Possibly a very early break- 
 fast helped to create the appetite. 
 
 8 
 
THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS 
 
 After dinner, properly chaperoned by some 
 older member of the family who could swim — a 
 boat-ride was allowed on thrt glorious, sparkling 
 l?.ke above the dam. 
 
 To the east — at the end of the dam, and fram- 
 ed in a bower cf trees— the mill stood majestic 
 and imposing. The rumble of its machinery, 
 came floating over the water, and njade the three 
 hundred and sixty-four days cf the year spent on 
 dry land seem hazy and indistinct. 
 
 But since there are two periods cf joy in a 
 picnic excursion — the joy of arriving on the 
 scene, and the joy of starting hoir.e — the second 
 period came in due time. When the afternoon 
 had passed well along and the sun swung down 
 low in the west, and the south wind had become 
 a mere whisper, the novelty uf the day had be- 
 gun to wane. 
 
 Things were packed together in the wagon for 
 the journey homeward. The horses start out ea- 
 gerly, knowing well their destination. Along 
 the way, those who had so serenely staid at home 
 to plow corn were coming in from their day's 
 
 9 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 work, with no apparent concern for the fun they 
 had missed at the river. Perhaps they go on 
 Sunday. What sinners ! 
 
 That night, as the boy went the round of his 
 chores, he thought of the stream he had visited 
 and wondered how h looked in the moonlight. 
 When he took to his pillow — tired by the ex- 
 citement and exertion of the trip — to his sleepy 
 brain came the thought of the water falling over 
 the dam. It lulled him promptly to sleep. And 
 his dreams were all happy ones; for in youth 
 those of the future, relate only to success and 
 brilliant achievement. 
 
 ftaf' &si^ ^oi' >^3^ &ai' r-iiSy ^H' J^si' Aa^ 
 
 By means of the above row of clover blossoms 
 we bridge a space of forty years. Again the mill 
 and the dam, in the golden light of an evening in 
 late October, instead of June. An Indian sum- 
 mer haze lies over the peaceful valley of the Blue. 
 The yellow blaze of autumn color is on the trees 
 along the stream, and the leaves are drifting down 
 as they have done for forty autumns since that 
 
 10 
 
THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS 
 
 first day of dreams. It is appropriate that the 
 day has been one of mellow calm which the old 
 settlers knew and learned to love so well. For 
 this golden light of late afternoon softens the out- 
 liaes of a picture that brings a pang to the heart. 
 
 Gone is the broad expanse cf back water above 
 the dam. The rumble of wheels, and rush of 
 escaping water is stilled, forever, probably. The 
 Blue, back in its original channel, flows slowly 
 and silently thru an opening in the dam made by 
 a flood a few years ago. 
 
 The Seeley mill — that Mecca for numbers of 
 youthful stream worshippers so long ago — stands 
 waiting, just waiting. Time- weathered but erect, 
 it speaks in its own way to those who knew it 
 away back in the early seventies. 
 
 Broken window lights, faded paint, a jumble 
 of the old time machinery yet lying inside; but 
 to the ones who rode behind a team up to the 
 doorway, away back in the prairie days, it is 
 hard to dispel the illusion that the ghostly form 
 of the miller in his flour-covered suit and cap, 
 will not soon appear at the door. 
 
 11 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Yes, it is autumn with the mill as well as 
 the year; and for this visii: tie falling leaves are 
 more appropriate than would be the murmuring 
 leaves cf June, forty years ago. 
 
 The mill and its surroundings have reached 
 the true stage of picturesqueness. Mills at a sim- 
 ilar tim.e in their careers, have always been a 
 subject for the arrist. Therefore, silent rnd de- 
 serted mills have adorned walls of homes over a 
 great part of the universe. 
 
 But today — brought face to face with a reali- 
 zation of how much is gone with the years which 
 brought idleness and decay to this, our personal 
 mil], it is impressed upon us that a picture to 
 a 'orn our own wall, should be somebody ease's 
 childhood dreamworld. This one is too near the 
 heart. Its all wound round with memories, n^any 
 sad ones, just yet. 
 
 To put a picture cf it on our wall now, would 
 be too much like putting up one cf the family 
 plot in the ce.netery. It may be different after 
 the shock of first sight wears away. It might 
 even come to be that a series cf pictures, show- 
 
 12 
 
THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS 
 
 ing the present day mill and its surroundings, 
 would produce a pleasant mental pastime. For 
 dreams cf the past, good and sweet, might come 
 from studying the views; just as wonderful ones 
 of the future came fron the rumble of the whsel 
 and rush of water in boyhood. 
 
 During recent years, while living in the Ohio 
 and Mississippi valleys, constant acquaintance 
 with those mighty rivers brought thoughts of 
 this beautiful little valley of old. There was the 
 idea, with pleasant anticipation, of making a 
 pilgrimage to it. But change in physical appear- 
 ance of the locality, had n3t been considered in 
 the plans. To sit here new in this soft October 
 twilight, and try to unroll the scroll of years dack 
 to the first day cf dreams — the task would re- 
 quire many such twilights, with some June 
 dawns and sunsets added. 
 
 You — reader — if your days go a long way back 
 in this prairie state of straight and distant hori- 
 zons, with unbroken domes of sky overhead, give 
 sympathy and take the case home to yourself. 
 You have a mill, or some similar thing in your 
 
 13 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 memories of youth. Let us hope that you are 
 not one of the unfortunate city-born, whose ear- 
 ly recollections are those of a back yard play 
 ground, with a clattering, noisy street in front. 
 You may retort that you had fine parks. True, 
 but "Keep Off The Grass." met you at every turn, 
 and all things provided by the park authorities 
 were so very patent and formal. You had to play 
 just so, or sit and twirl your thumbs; for the 
 park policeman was on watch for mischievous 
 and rebellious ones. 
 
 Nebraska has many beautiful spots which 
 cities in other states would be glad to have in 
 their park systems; if it were possible. In the 
 region of the old Seeley mil], York county has a 
 place of which it may well take pride. 
 
 The writer speaks now — not as a small boy to 
 whom some simple thing might appear as one of 
 the seven wonders — but as a man familiar with 
 many famed places of nature in our United States. 
 If only height of mountain or depth of canon is 
 the measure of a scene out of doors, it can not 
 satisfy; but to those who have a practical vision, 
 
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 S 
 
THE FIRST DAY OF DREAMS 
 
 the fertility of the slopes along our little valleys 
 is taken into account. 
 
 The Palisades of the Hudson are grand but 
 worthless. Prairie scenes have their peculiar type 
 of beauty, a practical one, which must be under- 
 stood to be appreciated. 
 
 All parks have their custodians, and our little 
 one on the Blue has its own — the statue of the 
 soldier of far away '61. In the cemetery near 
 Lushton, standing on the north slope of the val- 
 ley, this life-size figure is a most impressive one. 
 Out in the open country, its situation reminds 
 one of French's justly famed historical statue, 
 The Minute Man, at Concord. 
 
 To anyone who stops and considers its signifi- 
 cance, our statue will appeal as a most fitting 
 thing. A great number of the county's pioneers 
 were veterans of the Civil war; coming soon after 
 its close to replenish their fortunes on these 
 prairies, where homesteads anb cheap lands were 
 open to settlement. 
 
 Memorial day in those times was fitting to its 
 name, not having degenerated into a National 
 
 15 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 holiday for racing and general sports. "The sound 
 of marching men," was a very real thing on that 
 May day, when the prairie was tingeing with 
 its new green. 
 
 This body of farmers, with comrades from 
 the small towns, made the leading feature of the 
 services. The small boys and girls looked on in 
 awe, as well they might; for those fathers and 
 neighbors had been, "Minute Men, " of a great 
 struggle now fast being forgotton. But over the 
 valley tonight, as the western sky's color fades 
 into darkness, it is very fitting that this statue 
 stands gaurd. The old soldier played a great part 
 in our state's settlement. 
 
 m 
 
 16 
 
II 
 
 THE LAMP ITSELF 
 
 On a busy retail street of this Ohio valley city, 
 is a large store where a fine display of gas and 
 electric lighting fixtures fill the windows. Inside, 
 on handsome library tables, are lamps, veritable 
 masterpieces of intricate design and workman- 
 ship. It is all palatial in effect, and the salesroom 
 looks like a fanciful forest of glowing color. 
 
 Along the residence streets after dark is win- 
 dow after window thru which can be seen rooms 
 softly lighted in delicate tints by colored shades 
 of the table la nps, or more brilliantly lighted by 
 clusters suspended fror the ceilings. Since the 
 curtains are left undrawn, it is probable those 
 inside wish the passer-by to see and admire the 
 coziness of the home. Therefore no apology is 
 needed for having looked in while passing. 
 
 17 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Seated in easy rockers under the soft glow of 
 tinted lights, it would seem that little was left 
 for which to wish in the way of comfort. The 
 members of the househDld are beyond reach of 
 winter outside. And it would also seem that in 
 such an air of cjinfort and coziness, the intellect 
 would be stinulated to action, giving a clear un- 
 derstanding without undue effort. But it is not 
 on record that the world's great achievements 
 were inspired by such surroundings, desirable 
 as they may be. 
 
 These conditions tend more to mental relax- 
 ation than anything else. When we read some 
 thing concerning haunts and habits of students 
 absorbed in investigations and solving of prob- 
 lems, or an author digging a story out of his brain, 
 it is almost invariably the case that we find a re- 
 tirement to a secluded spot, with the simplest 
 surroundings possible. 
 
 For the theme at hand, all modern inventions 
 in the matter of lighting, are under a ban.. The 
 inspiration is to come from a plain kerosene 
 lamp of the variety early boyhood knew. Being 
 
 18 
 
THE LAMP ITSELF 
 
 glass, a glance will tell how much oil is yet in 
 store. Sometimes it forces an early retirement, 
 from neglect in filling the bowl. 
 
 The "burner," is of the flat wick pattern, but 
 is wider than wicks of lamps which were kept 
 in a row on a shelf of the early home on the 
 prairie. It gives ample light for the table piled 
 with odes and ends of literature. Fastened to 
 the burner, is a three-pronged attachment which 
 supports a large white porcelain shade. This, 
 while leaving the greater part of the room dimly 
 lighted, floods the table with a glow sufficient 
 for all needs. Sj with the flame adjusted for the 
 evening, it is time for remarks more or less gen- 
 eral and specific regarding the lamp in years gone 
 by, when it came nearer being a luxury. 
 
 Many are yet living who knew the candle when 
 it held the honor of being chief illuminator of 
 private households, and many public institutions 
 besides. Then, the idea of transmitting light by 
 wire would have been impatiently scoffed at. 
 
 One does not have to be very far along in years 
 to remember having seen his grandmother, or 
 
 19 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 even his mother, making candles. Neither is 
 the kerosene lamp ancient history; for modern 
 science has not been able to replace it with an 
 economical hand lamp, which, for an invest- 
 ment of forty cents, will bring cheer into even 
 a cabin. "Rushing the can," yes the kerosene 
 can is yet being rushed all over the United States 
 whenever it is found empty, and a long winter 
 evening is at hand. 
 
 With the coming of the kerosene lamp, came 
 new possibilities in the way of parlor ornamenta- 
 tion. Rebecca of Sunnybrock Farm, realized 
 this fact, when she labored selling soap to gain 
 a banquet lamp for the destitute family in her 
 neighborhood. 
 
 Those round-burner parlor ornaments certain- 
 drew heavily on the oil. They were generally 
 lighted just before the first guests of the evening 
 were billed to arrive, and "blowed" out as soon 
 as the last one got out of the yard. 
 
 Hawthorne deplored the coming of closed 
 stoves; making the point that loss of open fires 
 would result in cheerless homes. The kerosene 
 
 20 
 
THE LAMP ITSELF 
 
 lamp routed tbe candle, and made up for loss of 
 the open fire. It was a flexible source of illumi- 
 nation. That is,- it could be turned very low — 
 a vast improvement; for nobody had succeebed 
 in regulating the candle, which always burned 
 full blast down to the socket. 
 
 Limited only by the point where smoke began 
 to rise, the lamp's flame could be adapted to se\'- 
 eral purposes or conditions. With the wick on 
 "high; " the family circle read or followed what- 
 ever pastime came to hand, Shifted to interm^e- 
 diate, it gave proper light for carrying on jour- 
 neys thru darkened and unused roomys. On low, 
 it became the beacon to be placed by the win- 
 dow for the ones who might be out at night on 
 errands across a stretch of prairie. 
 
 When the belated one arrived, even though 
 the family might be deep in slumber, there was 
 something welcome and satisfying to the heart in 
 that low-turned flame of the lamp, dimly outlin- 
 ing familiar objects in the room which yet held 
 warmth of the evening fire. How pleasant it was 
 then to sit for a little while, just idly musing over 
 
 21 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 nothing at all. A relaxation of all the senses — 
 so it seemed. As the stove cooled down, the 
 metal body gave out sounds of contraction, which, 
 gradually lessening in number and force, seemed 
 to suggest that the stove was also preparing for 
 a night's slumber. This by a sort of mental 
 suggestion, helped drive away any tendency to- 
 ward insomnia in the one who sat musing. 
 
 Is it possibJe that our homes in those days 
 came nearer fitting the true meaning of the 
 word ? As one took a glance around the room 
 before giving a puff of breath down the chim- 
 ney of the lamp, thereby removing the beacon 
 window from the landscape of the night, there 
 was more of a sense of fellowship with the fur- 
 niture than exists at present. Nowadays, pieces 
 are matched to fit each room, and all must be 
 part of a harmonious whole. There is no partic- 
 ular regard for any of it. If occasion required, 
 it would all be sold tomorrow, and an entirely 
 new outfit put in its place. But our mothers 
 and fathers did not do it that way. The old 
 bureau was secure in a lifetime job. 
 
 22 
 
THE LAMP ITSELF 
 
 Since the kerosene lamp became a companion 
 in boyhood, there is nothing strange in the fact 
 that memories of long gone prairie days are much 
 easier recalled under its glow now, though the 
 uproar of city streets comes constantly to the ear. 
 The daily paper, or anything relating to business 
 affairs is taken as matter of fact under the gas or 
 electric light; but to get back forty years — well, 
 the fact that the electrician failed for some reason 
 to connect this room onto the wiring system of 
 the house, is now a matter for thankfulness. It 
 shall be left just as it is, and given over to the 
 influence of the old time lamp. 
 
 In youthful days, we drew the curtains early 
 to make it dark enough for lighting of the lamp; 
 thus shutting out the dreary winter twilight, and 
 thus entering another world of books and dreams, 
 bringing forgetfulness of the lonesome night out- 
 side. Ours was an orderly community, where 
 nearly all retired early. After ten o'clock a lock 
 over the little town close by, or the level stretch 
 of country roundabout, hardly ever disclosed the 
 gleam of a lamp. It was a rare thing to burn 
 
 23 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 midnight oil. The burglar was a negligable 
 quantity; thus an all night light was not needed. 
 One might, occasionally, sit up until midnight 
 on a winter evening, absorbed in a regulation 
 old line novel; but if a light was seen burning 
 in the snail hours after that time, it was almost 
 a sure sign some one was sick; and the neighbors 
 wondered what had happened. 
 
 Lamp lighting time in summer, was a different 
 matter. In fact, no lamp was used at all if it 
 could be avuided. Long days gave light for all 
 purposes until so nearly bedtime, that little need 
 existed for more. Early rising cf the busy sum- 
 mer months automatically squelched any prone- 
 ness to late hours. If one had to rise at four- 
 thirty, and steal a march en the flies at the 
 milking lot— then toil in the sun until the shad- 
 ows stretched long over the fields, there seemed 
 to be a sort of animal instinct which caused a 
 fellow to retire and appreciate the comfort of his 
 bed, without inclination or desire for musing un- 
 der shade of the lamp. Quick oblivion in slum- 
 ber sweet, was the sole ambition. 
 
 24 
 
THE LAMP ITSELF 
 
 When you went down to the big terminal sta- 
 tion a few evenings since, for the start oii an 
 all night journey, the maze of intricate electric 
 signs was not giving you concern as you passed 
 along the streets; and the long rows of arcs ex- 
 tending from the train-shed out thru the yards 
 was taken as matter of fact. Even the electrically 
 lighted cc aches and sleepers was an old story. 
 
 A dazzling headlight swept the track for half 
 a mile bey«-.nd the locomotive. But it is an age 
 of light; you already knew it, and there was no 
 need in getting excited about it on this particular 
 night ride. 
 
 At nine o'clock, the signal came on the min- 
 ute. The station with its rows of busy tracks, 
 glided noiselessly back and away. After clank- 
 ing over numerous switches with their red and 
 green eyes — how these switch lights awed us 
 country boys, when we first came into town af- 
 ter night. Soon the train was running past sub- 
 urban streets, where arcs at the corners glare 
 intensely bright, in contrast with dark spaces 
 midway of the blocks. 
 
 25 
 
UNDER THE ICEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Even the reflection of the city's glare on the 
 smoke and cloud above was soon lost to view, 
 as the train sped thru the silence of a country 
 night. The dazzHng headlight gave an unearth- 
 ly halo to the track ahead, making the telegraph 
 poles stand like a spectral line of sentinels. By 
 contrast, kerosene lamps cf the farmhouses look 
 yellow and feeble. 
 
 Then came scattered lights where city and 
 country meet, looking like shining stars in the 
 inky blackness which blenkets the world beyond 
 the outskirts. You had reached the place where 
 a light hcS individuality; where it becom.es a 
 personal friend. 
 
 Soon they wink out. Then in the hour before 
 dawn, they come ag^in end fade with lighting 
 of the eastern sky. It is hard to realize that the 
 morning lights are not the same ones which dis- 
 appeared at bedtime. The interval of space 
 passed by the night journey has been a blank to 
 the senses; but, if in the passing, solitary lights 
 along the way did not take you back to a partic- 
 ular one in your dim past, when its little circle 
 
 26 
 
THE LAMP ITSELF 
 
 made for your comfort and pleasure during long 
 imeventful evenings — it is a sure sign that you 
 never had rural experience. If you did, there 
 has been a most wonderful forgetting process at 
 work in your system. 
 
 That small world of light under the porcelain 
 shade of the la.np — tonight it seems to hold the 
 wandering mind within its glow, and keep away 
 everything pertaining to the rush and clamor cf 
 the streets c^utside. It is the soft, cozy glow 
 which opened the realms cf mystery in bookland 
 during the Lng winter evenings wrapped in the 
 silence of the Nebraska prairie many years ago. 
 In the shadows of the room., som.e rows of bocks 
 dating back to these days, repcse on the shelves 
 in various attitudes. 
 
 But a sort of settling process has taken place, 
 and many that in times past were intimate friends, 
 or at least played an important part in the prep- 
 aration for mature years, have sunk by the grav- 
 ity of neglect to rows near the floor. Others 
 more in the spirit of the times, hold the posts of 
 honor. 
 
 27 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Who — if a favorite book of youthful days 
 means anything more to him than so much pa- 
 per between the covers — can avoid a little sigh 
 for the day in his mind's youth, when those 
 pages opened up new scenes, gave him knowl- 
 edge bit by bit, and on pages of fiction found 
 new friends to admire; possibly making a stan- 
 dard fcr his selection cf future real cnes in flesh 
 and blocd. 
 
 Beyond the lamp's circle, other objects rest 
 in varying degrees of shade and shadow. The 
 tick of the clock completes the setting; for was it 
 not in prairie days almost a living thing ? In the 
 silent places, it came to mean more than a thing 
 to record time; and when it struck the hours — 
 well — in a room quiet enough for the clock to 
 be good company, is where people really think. 
 
 28 
 
Ill 
 
 THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 In the old kercsene days, there was one who 
 filled the lamps, cleaned the burners, then wash- 
 ed and polished the chimneys. This act was 
 typical cf her pkce in the home. The small 
 lamps gave little light at best, but clear chim.- 
 neys helped. So the effort the pioneer mother 
 put into the polishing, wes but a part of her 
 tireless round to keep the home on the prairie 
 waste bright and cheerful. 
 
 No — "prairie waste," is net a fair appellation. 
 Every acre yet unturned by the breaking-plow 
 was heavy with grass, and the rich soil under- 
 neath lay awaiting its mission to bring forth the 
 wealth that would fulfill the settlers dream. 
 
 There was pleasure in the green of spring and 
 summer months, over the sun-bathed expanse 
 extending to the unbroken horizon line in every 
 
 29 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 direction. But for two-thirds of the year there 
 was nothing in the view which gave comfort or 
 a sense of companionship to her who tried as 
 best she could to keep back thoughts of the old 
 homeland far erst of the Missouri. There, the 
 parental roof still sheltered these near and dear 
 to her. Its surrounding acres were more endow- 
 ed with the beauty of weeds and streams than 
 the new home she was helping to make. 
 
 Settlers in the creek valleys had a little timber 
 along the stream's course; but on the treeless 
 upland homesteads, the newly planted cotton- 
 woods see^.-ed so slow in their growth for the 
 first few years, that they only whetted the appe- 
 tite for a sight ef the old eastern home trees and 
 vines. Barrenness of the landscape for over half 
 the year, must be considered ene of the greatest 
 hardships the prairie mother had to endure in 
 the beginning. Had she not in girlhood known 
 the beauty of woods and streams elsewhere, it 
 might not have mattered so much. 
 
 Of course the longing for old home scenes and 
 faces would have been there, even if the new 
 
 30 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 land had been a bower of beauty; but to look 
 out day after day on a dead brown monotony 
 stretching far on all sides, dotted sparsely with 
 small sod or frame houses gave little food for in- 
 spiration. Each family was out of hail of the 
 other; must spend the day and night again and 
 again in its own round of duties; must find in 
 its small stock of books and papers the solace for 
 the long hours; must see the fall days shorten 
 and grow chilly at dusk, and know the storms 
 of winter would s^on be ct hand, shutting off 
 most of the visits to and from these distant neigh- 
 bors. Each had to plan as best it might with 
 the slender means at hand f^r bodily comJort, 
 knowing that fuel w£S scarce — it is net strange 
 that spring see.ied an age ahead. 
 
 Is it any wonder, considering the surroundings, 
 that the prairie mother carefully cleaned and pol- 
 ished her kerosene lamps, so that when the win- 
 dow shades were drawn for the long winter even- 
 ings, the lamps might to the best of their feeble 
 ability, carry into the night a little of the cheer 
 which fading of daylight had taken away. 
 
 31 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 One of the fondest hopes for the future of the 
 new home was that the prospective railroad 
 would pass near it. How little can anyone who 
 has never known by personal experience the 
 slow development of an isolated home, realize 
 the joy brought by the news that trains would 
 pass by it. To the small beys of the neighbor- 
 hood, the announcement was the most stagger- 
 ing thing they had ever heard. When in due 
 time the surveying party appeared on the eastern 
 horizon, the urchins cam.e near exploding with 
 excitement. 
 
 They breathlessly watched the surveyor set up 
 the shining instrum.ent on three wooden legs, 
 after which he gave directions to other men who 
 went on ahead, and drove a line of new pine 
 stakes in the short prairie grass. To the boys, 
 these stakes looked as big as telegraph poles — so 
 highly keyed was the imagination. 
 
 Soon the construction work was under way, 
 and it seemed strange to watch the grading gangs 
 pitch their camp — then build the low embank- 
 ment over the prairie, and make the high fills to 
 
 32 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 carry the track across the draws. Over the un- 
 broken ground, where even a row of fenceposts 
 made a decided change in the landscape, this 
 new earth bed ready for the cress ties and rails, 
 made it seem that pioneer days would end with 
 the first train. 
 
 One day, we, legal disciples of the little white 
 school house a quarter of a mile from the scene 
 of activity, heard a whistle far down the line cf 
 the new grade. The thrill it created has never 
 been equalled since. We knew it was the en- 
 gine of the construction train approaching from 
 the east. 
 
 It was not yet visible, but favorable conditions 
 of the air had wafted the melodious and wel- 
 come sound to us. One of our number, how- 
 ever, had been to the county seat some miles 
 east; and while we listened eagerly and envious- 
 ly, he told of seeing ties and rails placed on the 
 embankment; and how the supply train followed 
 closely over the track just laid. 
 
 Before many days the spectacle advanced into 
 our territory; then on beyond, and out of sight, 
 
 33 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 so that in due time the "cars" passed daily on 
 schedule. Thus we became saturated with civ- 
 ilization, and wondered what our stage driver 
 would do for a living. Perhaps they would let 
 him become an engineer. 
 
 For a time, the sight of a column of smoke in 
 either direction where the read faded into the 
 horizon, was the signal fur boys within half a 
 mile of the track, to get in action and be "close 
 up" to watch that majestic train cf three small 
 coaches go thundering by. This caused the prai- 
 rie mothers concern, because somie of the more 
 risky urchins got into the habit cf standing quite 
 close to the track, showing others how utterly in- 
 different they were to such dangers. 
 
 Striking an average of it, the prairie was an 
 exceptionally good nursery for children, regard- 
 less of sex. The mother need worry little for 
 their safety when she turned them out to grass. 
 Freedom of play was not hampered by fear of 
 wild animals and reptiles, or dark woods to swal- 
 low them up. The air was a health-giving one, 
 excelled by no other under the sun. Coming for 
 
 34 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 miles over a sea of wild grasses, and filtered all 
 the way by bright sunlight, those boisterous and 
 fitful breezes gave the double cress to all germ 
 creation. 
 
 For the winter months, it was a problem of 
 isolation as before stated. When the blizzards 
 raged, providing pastimes for the children and 
 keeping them fromi killing each other, kept the 
 prairie micther on the alert. Since there were 
 no laws in those days limiting the hours of labor 
 for womien, she could stay on the job from dawn 
 to bedtim^e without fear of prosecution. Possi- 
 bly she had less tin e to get lonesom.e or indulge 
 in longing thoughts for her old home than in 
 more inviting see sons cf the year. 
 
 A year in childhood — that is a long time; and 
 a childhood winter on the bleak, new prairie 
 was long — very long. 
 
 It it little wonder that the budding days of ear- 
 ly spring were times of joy. It was as a release 
 after long imprisonment. Then it was that the 
 sun, moon and stars all seemed to move in or- 
 bits planned for our own piece of grass covered 
 
 35 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 world. It seemed like the universe was young 
 with us each spring, and joined us in investigat- 
 ing the mysteries of the green prairie. We 
 awoke each morning in a new world. In the 
 long night's sleep, all griefs of the day before 
 had faded from the plastic brain. Each day com- 
 menced with a clean slate. 
 
 It is easy to tell tales cf boyhood days, but to 
 go back in memory and try to put yourself into 
 the world cf thought in which you lived when a 
 child, is a task accomplished by few. If it were 
 an easier one, or at least attempted mere earnest- 
 ly by these who have boys and girls to govern, 
 the result iright be of benefit to both sides in 
 the case. 
 
 There are some who cannot even put them- 
 selves back in thought to the day they turned 
 twenty-one. When some elderly one remarks 
 that there seems to be a lot of extremely young 
 married couples nowadays, the chances are that 
 if you look up his record, it will show him to 
 have been a very youthful bridegroom himself. 
 The only way to convince him, would be to show 
 
 36 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 the old family photograph album. Take him 
 back to the beginning, just as you would hunt 
 up the colonial settlement period in the old school 
 history of the United States. 
 
 Show the doubter the old fashioned picture 
 of himself at the ages of from three to five, hold- 
 ing as little resemblance to his mature and elder- 
 ly self of t^day, as some vegetable growth in its 
 early stage cf development, dees to the ripened 
 product. Then bring him on page by page thru 
 the album, and watch for that silly look which 
 comes when he views himse-f in all the glory cf 
 a wedding suit. 
 
 But when the child studies the old family pic- 
 torial record, he sees everything from the other 
 end of the line, so to speak. To study the pic- 
 tures of aunt Matilda and uncle Hezekiah, was 
 almost enough to make one swallow the whole 
 doctrine of evolution. 
 
 The seven ages of man, indeed ! We tried 
 hard to imagine what aunt and uncle were like 
 in the dim, shadowy days, when dressed in the 
 fashions of those times, the daguerreotyper took 
 
 37 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 them for his victims. How we would like to 
 have had them for playmates. Jolly as they were 
 in mature years, at ten they must have been 
 leaders in everything worth while. 
 
 Reflecting on that point now, from an age 
 where gray streaks the hair, it seems possible 
 that aunt and uncle may have been only normal 
 children after all when the old fashioned photo- 
 graph was made. Their youthful days do not 
 seem so wonderful now, since we have passed 
 thru it all in our own existance. But in child- 
 hood, when we knew only that one small world, 
 it was too great a strain on the imagination to 
 put a grown-up back in our class. 
 
 As for grandmother and grandfather, the da- 
 guerreotype did net reach quite back to their five 
 or ten year days; and it was simply impossible to 
 imagine them as ever being so small. They told 
 us stories of their juvenile days, but it all seemed 
 vague and unreal. 
 
 So it was that mornings came to children out 
 in the open sea of new land. Always an expect- 
 ancy and a forgetfulness of the day before. A 
 
 38 
 
"To the east— at the end of the dam, and 
 framed in a bower of trees — the mill stood 
 ma'estic and imposing." 
 
 -page 38 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 broken toy might be a reminder of yesterday's 
 trouble, but even that had lost its sting. The 
 grown-ups told us of new pleasures we might 
 find that day. Just for today was enough. Liv- 
 ing one day at a time, the weeks passed by, mak- 
 ing up the long year cf childhood. 
 
 In after years, it comes to mcst of us that the 
 simple pleasures were greatest. What would you 
 pay now, f^r som^ething which would give the 
 thrill your Christmas stocking did in childhood ? 
 Someone has well said that the attempt to explain 
 an empty stocking to a child, is one of mother- 
 hood's greatest tragedies. It causes the blackest 
 hour in many a hom^e of the poor. 
 
 When in boyhood days we went, in the seventh 
 heaven of joy, for a holiday with the uncles and 
 aunts or the grandparents, the thought never 
 came to us that there might be apprehensive cor- 
 diality in the smiling welcome they gave. As we 
 greet our own young hopeful relatives now, there 
 is, mixed with the pleasure of seeing them a sort 
 of speculative wonder as to what wiU happen out 
 of the ordinary. 
 
 39 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 "Out to old aunt Mary's." Did she ever have 
 a thought of what new prank might be put into 
 execution by the boys who so eagerly trudged 
 along the road in old Indiana ? If she did, the 
 immortal Riley kept her secret. 
 
 The reader might inquire why — if this chap- 
 ter is supposed to be devoted to the mothers who 
 did a full share in homestead days — why do you 
 take so much space in telling about other mem- 
 bers of the family, and dwell on trials and tribu- 
 lations of the children ? 
 
 This is done to put the chapter in a form that 
 might suit those mothers, were they living today. 
 Their interest was so taken in the affairs of the 
 children, sisters and brothers, father and mother, 
 that little thought went to any particular desire 
 of their own. They lived the home life in that 
 old fashioned way. 
 
 In all that came with the round of childhood's 
 year, the prairie mother was the leading spirit. 
 She helped "make believe" when toys were few, 
 and snow was drifting in long, sweeping gusts. 
 She bundled them up for the long, cold walk to 
 
 40 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 school — her heart aching as she watched them 
 trudging along the dreary roads; their frail little 
 bodies pierced by the cold wind, and the noon- 
 day lunch in their tin dinner pails freezing into 
 chunks on the way. 
 
 Two miles is a long way for a small child to 
 walk under such conditions, arriving chilled thru 
 at a school building which would have passed 
 creditably for a cold storage warehouse. Some- 
 times they reached it sobbing and trembling 
 with cold; then ate a frozen lunch at noon. No 
 very pleasant memory comies cf it today. To go 
 a full term and not miss a day — what a task fcr 
 a country child ! 
 
 Yet all the long walks to schcol were not like 
 this. There were dreamy, hazy days of fall when 
 no better exercise could have been invented for 
 them. Again, on some of those spring days, 
 when the wild flowers along the road just had to 
 be gathered, it proved that the students practic- 
 ed self denial, else they would never have reach- 
 ed the school house at all. They covered the 
 teachers desk with flowers, and in the goodness 
 
 41 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 of her heart, she overlcx^ked much. Probably 
 she realized that her pupils would be more tract- 
 able as a result of their morning exercise. 
 
 In recalling lonely times and some of the hard- 
 ships of the prairie mother's life, it must not be 
 taken that her days were all privation and sor- 
 row. Far from it. Since there is so frequently 
 more pleasure in anticipation than in realization, 
 she was always living with the thought of better 
 days to cone. 
 
 When one looks at a desert, and ponders over 
 the dreary waste of sand, with its official and 
 exclusive badge — sage brush — there is a feeling 
 of depression, coming from thought of the worth- 
 less past and future of the silent expanse. But 
 in viewing a stretch of prairie, the idea is an en- 
 tirely different one — at least if it is to be the fu- 
 ture home. 
 
 Nothing but grass may lie as far as the eye can 
 see; but knowledge of the land's future worth, 
 gives an entirely different feeling in the sense of 
 possession. It may not be like the "spell" the 
 desert silence causes in some people, but it is a 
 
 42 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 normal feeling, and does not breed lunatics. A 
 Nebraska homesteader had other things to think 
 about in idle moments. 
 
 Thus the prairie mother had a vision of the 
 future to console her for what the new home 
 lacked, compared with the old. As soon as two 
 or three crops were harvested, there would be 
 the new house. The cottonwcods were growing, 
 and the family talked of the beauty of home sur- 
 roundings, when foliage would protect it from 
 winter stor.n and shade from summ^er sun. 
 
 Year by year as the desired conveniences were 
 added to the home, and little journeys into the 
 outside world came to be more numierous, it is 
 possible that her lot was a happier one than she 
 realized. 
 
 As far as isolation gees, it may be that the 
 prairie mother was no more isolated in the true 
 sense of the word, than many city mothers of to- 
 day. These, cooped up in a flat, are surround- 
 ed by a lonesome wilderness of strange cold faces 
 on every side. Their concern for the physical 
 safety of the children is increased, and the moral 
 
 43 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 safety as well. And now comes the landlord 
 with a new kind of concern. It is manifested 
 by the sign,- "No Children," 
 
 There never was better society invented than 
 that cf freeningling cf children and inhabitants 
 of the barnyard. None of the animals in the 
 combinaticn, unless it be a kicking mule, have 
 bad habits to teach wiling young pupils. 
 
 While the mother cou]d see her neighbors 
 homes a long distance over the prairie, visiting 
 days were sometimes far between; and no one 
 seemed to dream that it would ever be other- 
 wise. The present generation cannot quite get 
 the idea. Life without the telephone and auto- 
 mobile, is ancient history to the majority. They 
 know nothing about staying st home because the 
 "horses were too tired." 
 
 During the early spring and summer months, 
 the teams really did need all rest possible; and 
 a man was considered a bad citizen if he used 
 them for idle pleasure trips after the day's work. 
 Thus visiting on Sunday began to undermine the 
 housewife's peace of mind. At first, it came as 
 
 44 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 a real relief from the lonesomeness of the long 
 week. Then as crops began to bring a little pros- 
 perity, the Sunday dinner degenerated into a 
 feast day, making it the hardest one of the week 
 for mother officiating as chief cook. 
 
 Visiting the sick on Sunday also fell from its 
 pedestal of high purpose, and became a menace 
 to the afflicted one. If he lived thru the excite- 
 ment of a Sunday afternoon party held in his 
 honor, it wes a good sign that he was on the 
 mend. Otherwise, it would have killed him. 
 Please understand that the reference is not to any- 
 thing which the mothers did in ways to help the 
 afflicted, but to thwSe gatherings of neighbors, 
 calling to pay their respects, and remaining to 
 visit each other. When the time for departure 
 came, there were too many who could have truth- 
 fully said, "we have had a very pleasant time." 
 That night, the patient was closely watched for 
 symptoms of a relapse. 
 
 Once in a while there would be visits from 
 those of blood and kin back in the old home. 
 The joy and eager anticipation the news of their 
 
 45 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 coming gave mother and her little brood, made 
 the world all over again. How the days flew by 
 after they arrived, until the two weeks or so 
 dwindled to one day, tinged with sadness. At 
 the last meal things didn't taste right, for that 
 strange and unhappy sense of renewed separation 
 for a long time, hung heavy on the heart. 
 
 Then the good bye as the train pulls in. Even 
 the sound of the whistle and bell seems different 
 on this day; and to the one who is carried down 
 the line— every conductor's "all abcard," has its 
 pang for someone, and every car window has had 
 its mist of tears. 
 
 In due tine also came the day for the prairie 
 mother's departure on a journey back to the old 
 home of girlhood. Though she had eagerly count- 
 ed the days yet remaining, her mind was filled 
 with details of arrangements for the comfort of 
 those to be left behind. 
 
 Back among old friends and scenes, she found 
 pleasure; but she also found that while the hills 
 and woods were good to see again, ties of the 
 new home had woven their irresistible spell. A 
 
 46 
 
THE KEEPER OF THE LAMPS 
 
 new sense of things, as related to the old home, 
 came to her realization; and when the day came 
 for the return trip, there was a feeling of thank- 
 fulness f jr her responsibilities. She had beccme 
 a genuine resident of Nebraska's prairie. 
 
 Today, the native grasses which once lay for 
 miles over our level county, are hard to find. 
 Some of our country cemeteries are yet covered 
 with it. Who knows whether or not the mothers 
 of that day now at rest, would ask that this prai- 
 rie grass might be left around their resting places 
 for all time. 
 
 47 
 
I never set eyes on a clover field now, 
 
 Er fool round a stable, er climb in the mow; 
 
 But my childhood comes back just as clear 
 
 and as plain 
 As the smell of the clover I'm sniff in' again; 
 And 1 wander avv'ay in a bare^footed dream, 
 Where 1 tangle my toes in the blossoms 
 
 that gleam 
 With the dew of dawn of the miorning of love 
 Ere it wept o'er the graves I'm weepin' above. 
 And so 1 love clover — it seems like a part 
 Of the sacredest sorrows and joys of my heart. 
 
 —RILEY. 
 
IV 
 
 THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 In the early days of the plains, the court house 
 square was indeed the center of the county. It 
 might lack something geographically, of being in 
 that position; but the pioneers made it a common 
 center for many things. 
 
 "On the east side of the square," "The south- 
 west corner of the square," were easy ways of 
 describing the location of places of business. To 
 locate a store or office at a point beyond sight of 
 the square, was to a great extent getting off the 
 line of travel. 
 
 A row of hitching posts stood along each side 
 like sentinels. Here, the farmer tied his team, 
 when the trip to town was only for a short stay. 
 For his business errands, he did not care to go 
 
 49 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 unnecessarily far from his rig. He wished to 
 keep an eye on his horses, and see that nothing 
 in the wagon was disturbed. 
 
 For these and similar reasons, hitching on side 
 streets and vacant lots did not appeal to him. He 
 could go around and around the square, if it is 
 possible to go around anything which is square; 
 and yet keep in close touch with his locomotive 
 apparatus. 
 
 Let it be whispered softly, that the conven- 
 ience of this method compelled many a poor horse 
 to stand too long. By the tiiiie the homeward 
 journey began, it was a hungry team that saw 
 the miles lay long ahead of it, with oats and hay 
 at the other end cf the route. 
 
 The value of business locations "on the square," 
 was early seen. In effect, it seemed that all who 
 had wares to sell, wanted their signs hung where 
 the farmer could study them while tying his team. 
 Those who laid out the town, probably thought 
 its growth ought to cease at a square full. 
 
 I saw the old place a few months ago. There 
 was the same courthouse which awed "us kids," 
 
 50 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 with the splendor of its architecture, when it 
 was built in the early eighties and overtopped 
 everything around the square at the time. The 
 Capitol at Washington could not have impressed 
 us more profoundly. 
 
 Especially when we went into the county treas- 
 urer's office with father, and looked around pop- 
 eyed in wonder, while he paid his annual taxes. 
 To us, the rooms were splendid as marble hells; 
 and we gazed in facinated awe at the treasurer 
 himself. He lived on a farm before he was elect- 
 ed to this exalted position. We had seen him 
 wearing old farm clothes, and remembered with 
 pride in the thought, that he once helped us thresh. 
 To see him now — all dressed up and so courtly 
 looking — well, it proved that a farmer could get 
 to be somebody once in a while. 
 
 Father tried to be sociable with him for old 
 times sake; but he upheld the dignity of the of- 
 fice splendidly, and only let the humble tax payer 
 have enough smiles to insure his vote at the next 
 election. In those days, ex-farmers tried to for- 
 get their rural past. 
 
 51 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 The resemblance to the old-time square ends 
 with the building in the center. The streets 
 surrounding the lawn are excellently paved, with 
 neat cement curbing. Where that line of hitch- 
 ing posts could have stood, there is no telling. 
 But now, things are more formal. The cotton- 
 woods which in years past gave such enjoyable 
 shade and picturesque setting for the courthouse, 
 are gone root and branch. 
 
 This makes the old timers heave a sigh; for the 
 cottonwoods had a warm place in their hearts, 
 which the present generation has not inherited. 
 In place cf these old trees, on what is now a reg- 
 ulation lawn, small ones of an aristocratic breed 
 are arranged in perfect order. The commission- 
 ers, no doubt, had a surveyor lay out the rows 
 according tw Hoy.e. 
 
 But again by the law of contrast, I can bring 
 up a vision of the old square of nearly forty years 
 ago. The passing of an elderly man in a shining 
 automobile helped; for in a flash I saw this man 
 who guided the car with such dignity and grace, 
 and withal such a look of prosperous ease on his 
 
 S2 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 countenance — I saw this distinguished citizen 
 coming into town on another occasion. 
 
 The outfit he commanded on that day was at 
 par with the square in its general appearance. 
 The rain had been generous during a preceding 
 week of August. The unpaved streets were but 
 masses of black mud, chopped up fine by those 
 narrow-tired wagons. Restless horses fightirg 
 flies had lowered the dirt ar the hitching pcste, 
 so that the teairs now stocd in water nearly ankle 
 deep ail along the lines. 
 
 Since the rains had temporarily stopped farm 
 work, there was a full house in town. Hitching 
 space was at premiun:, especially so because it 
 was Saturday. At that ti ne the honor of riding 
 to town in a new wagon, resplendent with gor- 
 geous colors, was sufficient for one day. A"spring 
 seat" had become by general custom of the ve- 
 hicle makers, a part of every new wagon. Now 
 and then a farmer who was utterly extravagant 
 and heedless of possible coming to want in his 
 old age, would buy an extra seat so that all mem- 
 bers of the family could ride in comfort. But 
 
 53 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 the idea of tying up two dollars and a quarter in 
 something which could not be used every day, 
 was frowned upon by the community. 
 
 In this day of my vision, the rig had nothing 
 new about it. The wagon gave no clue as to its 
 original color. It spoke, however, of long years 
 in service. It had been new at some period, no 
 doubt, back in one of the three big Fs. They 
 were, of course, Iowa, Illinois and Indiana — the 
 states which furnished the majority of the set- 
 tlers for the new county. 
 
 Every hitching space around the square is tak- 
 en; so the pioneer drives along the lines watch- 
 ing for someone who might have finished the 
 errands of the day, and be starting for home. He 
 thus finds a place at last; and reaching to his 
 limit over mud and water, ties the team. Then 
 from the dilapidated wagon, he takes a cargo of 
 eggs. The price at that time of year was not a 
 present day cold storage one either. 
 
 His overalls were patched, and the remainder 
 of the costume harmonized with them. Consid- 
 ering the outfit, driver and all, it is not difficult 
 
 54 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 to see how the wave of Populism got started. 
 He was not poverty stricken, but over his farm 
 hung the traditional mortgage. Even a basket of 
 eggs at that old midsummer price, was worth 
 bringing to town. 
 
 There should be a bronze statue of the hen in 
 every county seat on the plains. In time of crop 
 failure she kept scratching around — laid as usual, 
 while the farmer awaited to take the one sure to 
 goodness product to town. 
 
 It is a hard matter now, with a square sur- 
 rounded by substantial brick buildings with dis- 
 play windows of metropolitan appearance, to te'l 
 of the scene to which the egg-laden agriculturist 
 turned as he left the wagon. Talk of hollow and 
 deceptive shams — those wooden store buildings 
 with the exceedingly elaborate box-fronts looked 
 it when seen from the alley. And the sidewalks 
 in front of them — little like the broad uniform 
 cement there now. Surely the old days are gone. 
 Did the elderly, prosperous-looking man in ths 
 touring car happen to think of it as he passed 
 the square ? Would he have recognized the young 
 
 55 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP. 
 
 man with patched overalls and rickety wagon? 
 Would he bring a basket of eggs to town in that 
 car? Perhaps so, for he made his money at- 
 tending to the small details well. 
 
 During the half century of its history, our 
 courthouse square has been a most orderly spot. 
 No saloon ever flaunted its brazen sign there to 
 the homesteaders or their descendents. No riot 
 has ever blackened its name. 
 
 The nearest we ever came to a riot, was when 
 some of those enterprising, build-up-our-towners 
 expostulated against removal of the hitching-pcsts 
 from the square — a proposition which was prob- 
 ably fought in every county of the state. 
 
 In those days the degree to which one was ru- 
 ral, was settled mostly by the distance he lived 
 from town. If only a mile or two out, he did 
 not seem so hopelessly countrified as the fellow 
 a dozen miles away. At least that was the idea 
 the boys had on the subject. There was little 
 in the early life to make exciting experiences for 
 the prairie children. They had happiness after 
 a fashion, but there was scant material for liter- 
 
 56 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 ature relating to the country. Riley could not 
 have been suppressed, had he been born in any 
 other state than Indiana; but on the plains, his 
 ingenuity would have been sorely taxed. 
 
 It is one thing to recall in memory a picture 
 of days long past, and another to put it in words 
 so that others may see it in something like the 
 same perspective and colcring. To put down the 
 routine of our daily lives on the peaceful prairie, 
 and give to the tale "literary readableness," takes 
 ingenuity somewhat like that cf the housewife, 
 who at times must plan appetizing meals from a 
 limited variety of materials. 
 
 There were no Indians nor vicious animals to 
 furnish themes for stories of narrow escapes. We 
 never had to dodge anything more dangerous 
 than lightning-rod agents in the way of varmints. 
 There was none of the silent romance of the 
 desert to give a halo. Even had moving pictures 
 been an institution at the time, a thousand foot 
 reel would have been about all necessary to sup- 
 ply public demand. The western pictures which 
 make the film companies rich, are not staged on 
 
 57 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 prairie of the prosaic type. It has been said that 
 
 the bible and the shotgun went side by side in 
 
 western settlement. Eastern Nebraska had both, 
 
 but the shotgun was used for peaceful purposes 
 
 only — if increasing the speed of the elusive and l\ 
 
 frolicsome jack rabbit, can be so classed. 
 
 Yes, the old courthouse square is gone. There 
 is one now, occupying the same place the old one 
 had; but it is nothing like the one where we 
 country boys tied our teams so long ago. While 
 of the old days and the old square, there are a 
 number of pleasant memories, this is not an old 
 man's sigh for the "good old times." It is a new 
 and better square now; where the comfort and 
 convenience of things over that level land, is we 1 
 shown by the new dress of the county seat. It 
 all comes from the harvest of those same level 
 acres; for no factory smoke darkens the sky. The 
 gifts of sun and rain, make the measure of wealth 
 from year to year. 
 
 It is a mighty strange thing, that the shrink- 
 age of wooden buildings by age has never excited 
 comment. Are all the learned professors napping ? 
 
 58 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 Many years ago on the main street leading from 
 the square, the well-to-do had built mansions of 
 wood. When the country boy passed along that 
 street on his way into town, he was much awed 
 by those imposing structures, and envied the 
 people who lived therein. It seemed that they 
 lived in a higher world than ordinary folks out 
 in the country. With no chores to do at night 
 or morning, no coarse work clothes to wear, 
 and buying everything to eat at the stores, — cer- 
 tainly they must be free from all care and drudg- 
 ery. That would be better than Sunday seven 
 days a week on the farm; for the cows had to be 
 milked every old day. 
 
 Once in a while a carriage load from one of the 
 stately residences, would come to the country for 
 a day's visit. It seemed to the urchins at the 
 farm like a day with royalty. The carriage bob- 
 bed up and down so softly when they tried the 
 springs. The "livery" team's light harness was 
 so much nicer than the heavy sets which the 
 farm horses wore. Our childish hearts longed 
 for the glitter of new things. 
 
 59 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 It must surely seem to those city folks that 
 the country home was very plain in comparison 
 to the splendor of theirs on the leading street in 
 town. But they heartily approved of mother's 
 dinner. The way they ate it, and complimented 
 the cook, left no doubts. This fact proved them 
 to be mortal, and the gulf between us did not 
 appear so great. 
 
 But a stange thing has happened — discovered 
 while strolling over the little city and studying 
 landmarks near the square. These mansions 
 which so awed the boys back in the eighties, 
 have dwindled to about one-third their original 
 size — all due to the shrinkage of the lumber, no 
 doubt. No part of them has been taken away. 
 Every fancy porch and scroll-piece is there; but 
 all so small and commonplace compared with the 
 modern houses around them. 
 
 "When dreams come true." There was a boy- 
 hood dream, of living some day in one of those 
 places. Just now, it dees not seem that living 
 there would be the fulfillment of a dream worth 
 telling about. 
 
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THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 In the day of the square with box-front stores, 
 there was a wider gulf socially between the far- 
 mer and merchant, than exists today. When the 
 man close to nature tied his team at the row of 
 hitching posts, and went in with his butter and 
 eggs, he sometimes cringed a little as he steed 
 before the august presence; and was grateful for 
 any little inquiry concerning the welfare of the 
 family at home. 
 
 Nowadays, the farmer's car glides up to the 
 door, and his women folks alight as unconcerned 
 as you please. Cream and eggs have an indepen- 
 dent market elsewhere, and are a small factor in 
 trade with the stores. The merchant knows the t 
 the farmer will buy where he pleases. 
 
 At the bank, he dees net now enter like his 
 trial by judge and jury was in progress, with a 
 good chance for conviction. In many cases he 
 is a director in the institution. More than that, 
 he may be actually living in the county seat — 
 what time he is not in California. But he still 
 passes as a farmer, and does not wish to be called 
 anything else. Thirty years ago, though — it was 
 
 61 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 different. The change in his relation with the 
 merchant has to some extent been caused by the 
 explosion of a fallicy of the olden days. 
 
 In the beginning, the home merchant waxed 
 eloquent in describing the beauties and benefits 
 of the "Buy it at home" plan. The farmer who 
 dared to buy anything anywhere but in the town 
 nearest which he lived, or who ordered anything 
 from places outside, was held up as a horrible 
 example of the kind of man who didn't care a bit 
 whether or not the home town amounted to a bag 
 of shucks. But after a while the rural folks no- 
 ticed this fact: 
 
 The storekeeper in the town of five hundred 
 went to the county seat to do much of his own 
 family trading, where more of a variety could be 
 had. The merchant at the county seat, went to 
 the state capitol with his family to do buying cf 
 their private family clothing; and the Lincoln 
 merchant's wife went to Chicago for hers. 
 
 All that phenomenon among the "Build up 
 our town" folks, set the plodder in the fields to 
 thinking; and a new light came to him. 
 
 62 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 This illumination showed him clearly that the 
 ones who gave him such wonderful home-buying 
 arguments, were not in business for health's sake 
 or to build up the town. They were there to get 
 every dollar which could be gotten out. When 
 one of them prospered, he did not stay to help 
 said home town any longer, but sold out and went 
 to California or some other congenial clime. No 
 more sleepless nights worrying about the welfare 
 of the old town for him. 
 
 So the farmer began to buy in Chicago also, 
 and the home merchant gnashed his teeth — his 
 own teeth, or store teeth at least — not the far- 
 mer's. But the farmer's course proved best fcr 
 the town and county in the long run. It placed 
 everything on a business basis. 
 
 There are excellent stores around the square 
 today. The owners realize that they must make 
 it a business proposition; and sell goods at a price 
 which will allow the farmer to buy consistently 
 at home. As a result, these county seats are 
 "building up," on sound principles. It is a sure 
 sign of a weak town when the " Buy it at home" 
 
 63 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 wail must be used to get customers. A few min- 
 utes study of local advertising in the county pa- 
 pers will usually tell whether or not a bimch of 
 dead ones is soliciting patronage. 
 
 When electric arc lights were placed on the 
 court house tower, it brought the very latest civ- 
 ilization had to offer, right into our midst. If 
 the wise men of the east who saw the new star 
 and its halo, were more impressed by it than we 
 youngsters were by those arc lights, they marvel- 
 ed greatly indeed. 
 
 It was so different from the light of kerosene 
 lamps, our only standard for comparison. When 
 at night we were so fortunate as to attend a pc- 
 litical rally or celebration of some sort, the pub- 
 lic square seemed a sort of dreamland with light 
 of a strange and unearthly lustre; giving a new 
 complexion to old friends we met there. 
 
 Those trips to the county seat were always 
 looked forward to with eagerness. Nothing dim- 
 med the splendor until — probably it was the first 
 excursion to the state fair which gave us the 
 nerve to walk about the square with our heads 
 
 64 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 higher, and less feeling of awe gnawing at our 
 vitals. On second thought, it seems more prob- 
 able that hunger was disturbing the vitals; for a 
 boy never went anywhere, who did not get hun- 
 gry the first thing, no matter how well he had 
 been fed a few hours previously. 
 
 Once in a while the prairie lad tired of good, 
 sensible grub. Arrived in town for the day, a 
 dinner of bakery goods so te'T-ptingly displayed in 
 the windows, see ned all that was necessary to 
 complete a glorious occasion. Long before sup- 
 per time — wonder indeed — a delusion came, in 
 which it appeared that the noonday lunch had 
 been merely a dream. The stomach called for its 
 regular diet, and nothing in all the bakery dis- 
 play could arouse its enthusiasm. 
 
 On. the way home that night, the boy who had 
 so eagerly anticipated the feast of floury products, 
 reflected on the stability of home cooking. At 
 that time, he had heard nothing concerning the 
 science of balanced rations. And now in these 
 after years, when the shabby cooking in some 
 hotel or restaurant make him pause and heave a 
 
 65 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 sigh, there comes a grim smile at the thought of 
 his boyish dissatisfaction with things good and 
 wholesome at home. 
 
 Long before this, it would seem that the last 
 word had been written about circus day. Stories 
 of it have been a fad in the popular magazines, 
 for the last ten years. Circus day— one of the 
 things which not only was — but still is. It hrs 
 simply kept pace with change in the times. The 
 up-to-date show, matches the new county seat. 
 None of the interest which it awakened, when 
 we drove a dozen or twenty miles in wagons to 
 see one ring of it, has been lest in the change to 
 automobiles and three rings of the same old cir- 
 cus with added attractions. 
 
 But the great annual event certainly meant a 
 day of wonder to homes far from town. Diver- 
 sions were so few then, that it could not be oth- 
 erwise. Thus "going to take the children," was 
 as popular an excuse then as it is now, and ever 
 will be. One could not arise early enough these 
 circus day mornings to see the first wagons speed- 
 ing over the level prairie roads, for the reason 
 
 66 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 that the first rigs went by before daylight. It 
 was to be the whole day in town or nothing, for 
 those early birds; and there was a worm to catch 
 also — a suitable place to leave the team. Lucky 
 was the man with friends in town, who had a 
 barn where he might put the team; for public 
 facilities would be badly crowded. Did you ever 
 see a livery stable on circus day ? 
 
 If these rambling chapters were to be read by 
 farmers — now elderly — who lived on the prairie 
 for the main working period of their lives, only 
 a small per cent would be found reading under 
 the light cf the kerosene lamp. The majority cf 
 them have either "gone to town" to live in some 
 little city of from five to ten thousand inhabitants, 
 with which these prairie states abound, or have 
 gone to Calif urnia to spend their declining years; 
 and, believe me, the first thing their wives ditch- 
 ed when packing for the move, was the kerosene 
 lamp. The everlasting bother of filling them and 
 cleaning chimneys was to be over at last. 
 
 Southern California owes much of its prosperi- 
 ty to the colonies of ex-prairie men who camiC 
 
 67 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 bringing with them the wherewith to live for the 
 remainder of their days. Someone has said that 
 the prairie country has been, practically, but the 
 camping ground of thousands coming from states 
 east of the Mississippi, hoping to reach the Pacific 
 coast. There is more truth in the assertion than 
 many would care to admit; but they camped on 
 the grassy plains long enough to raise their fami- 
 lies, and accumulate a setting of nest eggs for old 
 age. The soil they tilled, should have full cred- 
 it for its part. A look over the lists of real estate 
 transfers in some of those counties, will show it 
 to be getting this credit. 
 
 To state the true inwardness of why the pio- 
 neer fathers of these cottonwocd-bordered farms, 
 took refuge in California after their retirement 
 from active duties, compels us to whisper another 
 reason. Naturally, soft climate of the coast was 
 soothing to the ailments acquired during strenu- 
 ous years; but this other reason hinted at was — 
 they had to go out there, to get rid of the boys 
 and a son-in-law or two. These pesky kids, — 
 now full-fledged and in active control of father's 
 
 68 
 
THE COURT HOUSE SQUARE 
 
 farms, persisted in routing the old gentlemen out 
 in harvest, and at all times when extra help was 
 needed; and sometimes when it was not needed. 
 These fathers had "retired," and must uphold 
 the dignity of their retirement; so what else was 
 there for them to do, but go far over the Rocky 
 ranges. After that, all the precaution needed, 
 was to time their visits to miss the rush days cf 
 harvest or planting. 
 
 In the winter sunshine of California or Florida 
 today, can be seen little groups cf elderly men in 
 small parks where seats are plentiful, or in the 
 corner where horse shoes ring against the stake. 
 To one raised among the-n, long before their 
 present easy days began, the identification comes 
 quickly. There is a touch of sadness to it, de- 
 spite the comfort of palms and sea breezes; for as 
 they talk together, there is a wistf ulness and some 
 times a little sigh, as they tell tales of old days 
 when they drove to the now far away county seat, 
 and tied their teams at that central point for all 
 exchanges — the courthouse square. 
 
 69 
 
V 
 
 EVENING PEACE IN THE FIELDS 
 
 The peace of evening in the fields,— it is hard 
 to describe, but it is there — a distinctive kind 
 and quality; and it comes after a long day's work 
 is done. It must be seen and felt to be appreciat- 
 ed. Did you ever, after plowing all day, go back 
 to the field after supper on some repair errand, 
 or for your ccat or other article forgotten? It 
 was just as the sun was ready to sink below the 
 horizon, a gold and red disk with nearly all pow- 
 er of heat gone. The rays stifled by their long 
 slanting journey through the dust-laden lower air. 
 It is the same sun whose heat at noon was almost 
 unbearable; but it cannot cast even a shadow now 
 although it sinks in a sky free from cloud. 
 
 The team is in the barn, eating their well 
 earned supper. The plow stands by the last fur- 
 row, polished like a mirror by friction of the 
 
 71 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 turning and sliding soil. One knew what end- 
 less trouble it made to let rust gather on the mould 
 board by carelessness. 
 
 In the silence at sundown— without horses in 
 their places ahead of the plow, there is a strange- 
 ness in the scene which gives the idea that all 
 things of the field are at rest — that the peace of 
 evening has come there, as to the living things 
 about it. The furrow which was followed dur- 
 ing hours of sunshine, seems long and unfamiliar 
 in the soft light. It would be rather lonesome to 
 follow around the "land "again. 
 
 Thru the stillness come faint sounds from our 
 neighbors farms, all telling of chore-tim.e. Then, 
 floating over the fields, comes the benediction to 
 close of day — the meadow lark's sunset song — 
 sweetest carol of all the prairie. It was a joyous 
 greeting to the sun and new day, that he sang in 
 the morning, as the horses settled against their 
 collars for the first round. 
 
 The dew is falling, and the furrows fade into the 
 dusk. Thru the grove of young cotton woods comes 
 a gleam of light from a window. Someone has 
 
 72 
 
, EVENING PEACE IN THE FIELDS 
 
 lighted the kerosene lamp, and for an hour or two 
 the peace of evening will be transferred from the 
 fields to a room where stillness is broken only by 
 the ticking of the clock, and faint echoes from 
 the barnyards. 
 
 Many a youth has fancied that life was rather 
 quiet at such a time. Later on in life, with the 
 roar of the city in their ears, and some of the 
 grind of it racking their nerves, these same boys 
 have had visions of the peace cf evening in the 
 fields long ago. They talk cf it, and tell the glo- 
 ries of it, and how they are going back to it some 
 day; but when we ask who ever went back, echo 
 answers—^ Who"? 
 
 The variety of prairie peace under discussion, 
 might vary with the time of year. During the 
 weltering days of July and August, it was chang- 
 ed from the sunset hour to that before dawn; for 
 with the steady wearing strain of mosquitoes and 
 flies, there was no peace for either man or beast 
 at sundown. To arise just before the glow began 
 to tint the eastern sky, and go out to see stock 
 enjoying a brief respite from those miserable in- 
 
 73 
 
UNDER THE ICEROSENE LAMP 
 
 sect pests, took away all pleasure of seeing the 
 sunrise which would usher in another blistering, 
 scorching day. It was the peace of early mcrn- 
 ing and the quiet, starry sky seemed a mcst de- 
 lectable thing. 
 
 "Under the stars," — what an expression, with 
 which to conjure. Kow many literary stunts it 
 has helped those to pull off, who, wise to tricks 
 of the trade — arrange a little scene in nature and 
 put over it a mantle of, "Under the stars." But 
 their scenes must be staged in the open country, 
 to get the full effect. It takes the whole domie cf 
 sky to complete the setting. Thus it came about 
 that under the Nebraska sky, when all working 
 conditions were right, some cf the mcst beauti- 
 ful moonlight nights on the face of the earth came 
 to us at times; and some of the softest and gentlest 
 night breezes that ever stirred a wild rose petal, 
 wafted the scent over our fields. 
 
 To draw in detail the nearly treeless prairie as 
 it was in early days, — the skies with a great va- 
 riety of cloud formations in spring or summer, 
 and beautiful tints in autumn, must be brought 
 
 74 
 
EVENING PEACE IN THE FIELDS 
 
 in to give perspective. In a room bare of furni- 
 ture, if the walls are of pleasing color and taste- 
 fully decorated, the place seems half way home- 
 like; and if a carpet in harmony is placed on the 
 floor, little else is needed. In this way, natures's 
 forces turned the miles of prairie into a vast room 
 of colors every spring. Beautiful cloud forirs 
 decorated the sky, and a carpet cf short, but rich 
 grass covered the great floors of fertile virgin S3il. 
 Days there were when we seemed but pigmies in 
 a palace of boundless dimensions. 
 
 During the fall, after frosts had withered the 
 carpet, the sky walls had for a time tints beyond 
 compare. If the colors of October and November 
 sunrises and sunsets could be put on the artist's 
 canvas without the least exaggeration, and then 
 shown to some of the stay-at-homes in eastern 
 states, it would be labor lost. For who of them 
 would believe that gorgeous coloring to be possi- 
 ble in Natures art gallery — the sky. These vivid 
 tints of sky and fringe of cloud, are the wonder 
 and delight of the stranger who views Nebraska 
 or Kansas sunsets for the first time. 
 
 75 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 But from December to February inclusive, it 
 did take a strong imagination to get beauty from 
 the materials at hand, excepting when some out 
 of season freak presented itself. It was not until 
 some spring-like day in March that it was worth 
 while to look for anything of much interest in 
 the sky. In late March or early April, pleasures 
 came in watching the clouds of overdue winter 
 storms change into fleecy, floating clouds of spring 
 as the stor.n exhausts its force and the resistless 
 rays of the sun, now high in the heavens, takes 
 the wintry-like aspect away when the north wind 
 dies down. 
 
 But spring-like days do not make spring; and 
 it was not until one felt that winter's last effort 
 had been squelched, that inexpressable satisfac- 
 tion came in watching the fitful skies. 
 
 That afternoon sunshine of a spring day on the 
 prairie. Let us see — yes, it was late April; al- 
 most time for preparation of those little baskets^ 
 to be filled with such simple flowers as could be 
 found, and hung on the doorknobs by stealthy 
 and crafty youngsters. For several days an end- 
 
 76 
 
EVENING PEACE IN THE FIELDS 
 
 less army of clouds had been driving out of the 
 north. They gave us first, heavy, rolling mists. 
 Then showers of cold rain; and as the tempera- 
 ture dropped a little lower, a blinding flurry of 
 big snowflakes, melting as they struck the newly 
 plowed fields and pastures, now showing green. 
 Springlike days had come in goodly number, and 
 days which almost scorched with the heat of sum- 
 mer. Days, "When early March seemed middle 
 May," as Riley puts it. We enjoyed them, and 
 spring work went on; but we knew full well that 
 in the north there yet lurked unpleasant possibil- 
 ities. We must have our spring blizzards, built 
 on the same general plan as those of winter, but 
 mild in comparison. 
 
 Now, the big flakes begin to spread a coating 
 over the evidences of incipient spring. There is 
 white over the new green, and things look dreary 
 around the barnyards. Everybody is housed up; 
 but there is a satisfying thought. All knew the 
 storm would fade away so rapidly when the wind 
 died down, that spring's return wotld be a tri- 
 imiphant and glorious affair. 
 
 77 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 So when the clouds began to break at noon of 
 the last day, the sun was on the job in less time 
 than it takes to tell the story. Before it sank be- 
 yond the horizon that night, the new grass after 
 its snow bath looked brighter than ever, in con- 
 trast against the deep black soil of freshly mois- 
 tened fields. And these lazy, floating clouds of 
 spring, which tock the sunset tints that night — 
 there was something reassuring in then?. It wrs 
 as if they said, "Its all over now; we'll stay this 
 time." Spring was enthroned, and the shouting 
 frogs told their joy .by moonlight. 
 
 Evening peace in the fields — yes, it would take 
 many pages to tell of the sunset hour, as seasons 
 came and went. You — who knew toil under the 
 blistering sun, years ago, get a kerosene lamp of 
 the kind you rested by after chores were done. 
 Memory may give to you many pleasing pictures 
 of inanimate things at rest. 
 
 78 
 
VI 
 
 FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 That was Henry Blank's new buggy. All over 
 the United States, for that matter, a young man s 
 possession of such a vehicle was regarded as more 
 or less of a sign of interest in the fair sex. But 
 in Henry's case, knowing him as they did, the 
 neighbors were quick to fathom the secret of a 
 very extraordinary purchase. 
 
 He had paid but little attention to the girls 
 during the twenty-eight years of his existence. 
 Living at h3me, his activities had centered on 
 the accumulation of horses, cattle and hogs, and 
 other personal property of the farm. Recently 
 another, "place," had been added to his father's 
 possessions. Some of the ever present wiseacres 
 of the community, had lost no time in telling 
 the son that he ought to, "get him a woman," 
 and move over to the new farm. 
 
 79 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Now farming is an occupation which particu- 
 larly requires a "woman," for the success of var- 
 ious operations carried on. Therefore, a large 
 per cent of rural marriages are for a definite and 
 practical purpose. The lord and master of the 
 farm must have a wife for cook, housekeeper, 
 saiall chore hand, and sometimes general rousta- 
 bout or far v janitor. 
 
 Owing to his past indifference in social mat- 
 ters, especially where the girls were concerned, 
 Henry knew that his appearance in the new bug- 
 gy, wouid be taken as a public announcement of 
 his candidacy, or a declaration of intentions. As 
 he drove into town, and tied his horse to a hitch- 
 ing post on the main street, all effort went toward 
 maintaining an unconcerned countenance. But 
 when he saw several local gossips standing in 
 front of a grocery store, and felt the influence of 
 their clear penetrating gaze, he heartily and fer- 
 vently wished that it were possible to carry out 
 his plans, without the publicity which would 
 come now with every move. Certain unwritten 
 rural rules almost frightened him. 
 
 80 
 
k 
 
 FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 For in the country town of that time, there 
 was a prescribed course of conduct for young 
 "couples." They must while, "going together," 
 attend the sociables, icecream suppers and enter- 
 tainments at ''haJls.*' Sunday nights, they rrust 
 go to church some place or other, regardless as 
 to whether either had a me:abership in any par- 
 ticular denomination or religious convictions in 
 general. It was not approved custom to spend 
 the evening at the fair one's home. They must 
 "go" somewhere, or there was little excuse fcr 
 the young man being in her society. 
 
 In stormy months, or during a lull of public 
 and private "doings," swains cf the prairie were 
 hard put for opportunity to meet the young ladies 
 for whom their buggies were kept in good run- 
 ning order. Therefore, when the minister read 
 his list of announcements for the week at Sunday 
 services, the "single fellows," listened with inter- 
 est; for here was news of legal and aboveboard 
 chances to act as escorts to whatever was on hand. 
 They got busy, and many dates were made before 
 the Sabbath went out on stroke of twelve. 
 
 81 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Since the churches in these days were the 
 main gathering places for young and old, it hap- 
 pened that many young men made a regular prac- 
 tice of attending on Sundays, because the girls 
 would be there. And someone has said — not the 
 author of this profound treatise — that many of 
 the girJs attended because the beys did so. But 
 even if these charges could be proven, it would 
 only illustrate the necessity for such attendance, 
 because social affairs were so liriited. 
 
 Summing up the matter cf opportunity, it can 
 be stated that few engagements of the time failed 
 to end in marriage. With so little chance fcr 
 each other's company, the betrothed ones had 
 but small excuse to tire cf each other beforehand. 
 The stability of courtship, was helped by the 
 stimulant of unfamiliarity. 
 
 Hampered by the usual inquisitive scrutiny of 
 the small community, many of the young people 
 heartily wished themselves far away where af- 
 fairs of the heart could be considered private 
 business. Henry had a feeling of that sort as he 
 drove into town in the new buggy. Nobody 
 
 82 
 
I 
 
 FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 knows how many of our rural young people mi- 
 grating cityward, do so to get away from this 
 family-like interert in their mating affairs. It 
 was common law in the village and vicinity, that 
 a girl obligated herself to a fellow, if she "went" 
 with the same one more than four or five tim^es. 
 And if she accepted his company for three months 
 or more, it was considered a breach of good man- 
 ners not to marry him. 
 
 After that length of tin:e, it was an embarrass- 
 ing thing to "quit." It left open the question to 
 these who were watching, as to which one get 
 the mitten. To some girls who felt sure that they 
 were considered charming, it gave no concern. 
 These figured that the community at large would 
 take it as a part of the law of natural selection, 
 that the ex-beau had been dismissed. In a case 
 of this kind, the victim usually sat on the back 
 row of seats for a time, until the audience could 
 have time to forget him. If the young lady made 
 her appearance with a new escort, the discarded 
 one darkened the church door no more until a de- 
 cent period of mourning had elapsed. 
 
 83 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Now Henry's entering the field of courtship 
 in such an admittedly practical way, had at least 
 a few points of superiority over some other meth- 
 ods. The fact of his attempted late coming into 
 female society, proved nothing against him.. He 
 was sound of body, and free from that kind of 
 worldly knowledge which might have given him 
 a lessened respect for womankind. 
 
 There is no denying that the new buggy with 
 all its shining paint, gave small promise fcr a 
 thrilling tale of love and ronance. But ccnsic- 
 ering the bride-to-be, — well — suppcse she had 
 married one of the dashing village beaus, whcse 
 affections had been blighted in a dczen different 
 "love affairs," and with pieces of his heart, fig- 
 uratively speaking, scattered all over the county. 
 Those who think her chances for happiness bet- 
 ter with Henry, please raise a hand. 
 
 Most any girl might wish that her knight came 
 with more grace and inborn admiration for her 
 sex, than did he. But between his business-like 
 way of seeking a partner, and that of the oppo- 
 site extreme — the country beau who prided him- 
 
 84 
 
FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 self on the number of girls he had "went with," 
 the thoughtful girl would see the former's good 
 points. She might, with tact, make a very sat- 
 isfactory husband cf him; while with the "ladies 
 man," her efforts would all have to go in shew- 
 ing superiority over his old flames. 
 
 This homely reasoning is to a certain extent 
 given in terms of that time and place, but blunt 
 facts are there, nevertheless. We would net rob 
 the world cf its romance by having the youth of 
 our land come a courting after Henry's fashion, 
 no matter how brightly they might keep the paint 
 shining on their buggies. But we have been 
 greatly peeved by the perusal of long drawn and 
 harrowing experiences of the cautious lovers in 
 present day periodicals. Here, each primed with 
 suspicion, and wise to all meanness to which the 
 sex of either is prone — fights a battle of long du- 
 ration, to find out whether either has enough 
 good qualitias to be endurable for what little of 
 life is left, when the long inquisition is over. 
 
 After all this, knowing life for them is likely 
 to be rather humdrum following so much excite- 
 
 85 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 ment, it is a pleasant picture to see in memory, 
 the youthful couples who knew little of tricks in 
 high life. The majority of country beaus, those 
 days, certainly treated the fair sex with more re- 
 spect, than does the modern lady-killer of the 
 city. That idea cf establishing a home, seem_ed 
 at least, to put a more serious note into the songs 
 of love, with which the young farmer wooed his 
 neighbor's daughter. For, mind you, the com- 
 munity attended mcstly to its own marrying it 
 that tiT^e, and very few outsiders made success- 
 ful applications for heart and hand. It was all 
 quite different from modern city conditions, in 
 which the fact that a homxe must be established, 
 too frequently makes against the marriage. 
 
 Nowadays, on the flat-lined streets, youthful 
 brides and grooms go gingerly up and down, crit- 
 ically looking at "apartments." Sad to relate, the 
 one selected often takes too large a portion of the 
 young "provider's" salary. Appearances must 
 be kept up at any price; and worst of all, a real 
 sense of home is not there. Constant reminder 
 of the fleetness of all things flatty, is visible from 
 
 86 
 
FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 their windows. For the moving vans are busy, 
 transporting household furniture from flat to flat; 
 and the young folks contract the moving fever 
 from the restless air about them. 
 
 But in the neighborhood where Flenry's new 
 buggy shone resplendent in the sun, there was 
 the idea of permanence in the minds of youthful 
 couples, who mated in the good, old-fashioned 
 way. Whether or not the wall paper and furni- 
 ture were in perfect har nony, caused them very 
 little concern; and the thought cf moving, was 
 but a far away possibility. 
 
 The galling part was publicity of courtship, as 
 aforestated and described. Henry was not the 
 only one who might feel embarrassed, when he 
 made his debut as a young lady's escort. Girls 
 there might be, who would have no objection to 
 riding in the new buggy, or allowing the owner 
 to chaperone them to local doings. But they very 
 naturally shrank from being announced after the 
 first appearance, as bride-to-be of Mr. H. Blank. 
 The news would come from — on aid society aft- 
 ernoons, the ladies exchanged ideas, and — 
 
 87 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 If, instead of Henry, it had been the young 
 drug clerk or the "depot agent," who simply 
 boarded at the village hotel and were considered 
 semitransients in town, little comment would 
 have been made. These two gentlemen would 
 not be under the suspicion of looking for a happy 
 home. Henry's case, however, would be too 
 plain to fool the watchful ones who always knew, 
 and sometimes knew when they did not know. 
 James Lane Allen has said that every bachelor 
 in the world, is watched by sorr.e woman. Had 
 our near hero known of this in the first stage of 
 his campaign, he would probably have tried to 
 locate his self appointed guardian angel. 
 
 For courting purposes only — yes, in these days 
 the new buggy too often seemed sacred and or- 
 dained to that mission alone. When so conse- 
 crated, a shed was built, where this first aid to 
 the heart-winner reposed in peace, as a reward 
 for the part it had played in getting the owner's 
 recently acquired bride. The wagon, now that 
 the fair one was legally cinched for life, was 
 plenty good enough. 
 
 88 
 
FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 The parade which some of these prairie swains 
 had kept up so faithfully during the months pre- 
 ceding marriage, often stopped so suddenly that 
 it appeared like an attempt to show the neighbor- 
 hood what a sham his social pretensions had been. 
 It would have been ludicrous at times, if pathos 
 of the bride's part in it, had not overshadowed 
 the funny side. Not in all cases did such a state 
 of affairs con:e about. Certainly not. Som^e cf 
 those unions were the beginnings cf the happiest 
 and best homes on earth. 
 
 The fanrer's wife did net ask for diamonds. 
 She demanded nothing in the way of luxury, tak- 
 ing her place in building the new home, cheer- 
 fully and uncomplainingly. But how m.any, many 
 hardships came to her, which could have been 
 avoided. Economy gone to seed — the last few 
 pennies saved at such a terrible cost. If there 
 was a difference of a cent per pound in churning 
 the butter, or letting the local creamery attend 
 to it, often she had it added to her duties. And 
 it would have been considered almost a sacrilege 
 to have considered any labor saving devices for 
 
 89 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 her kitchen. How many women today — descend- 
 ents of those mothers, but with hot and cold wa- 
 ter ever ready at the faucet — let a thought go 
 back to mother's limited supply in her tea kettle 
 and water bucket. 
 
 It w^as only a natural consequence, that with 
 toil of the farm, some of the young brides should 
 lose their bloom. Those were strenuous days, 
 when the calling of agriculture had little of the 
 independence and convenience enjoyed today. So 
 let all honor go to the me.nory of wives and 
 mothers, who sacrificed freshness of youth and 
 were shorn of the attractive physical qualities 
 dear to their pride and vanity. 
 
 The criticism to be made here, concerns the 
 popular standard and belief as to the wife's call- 
 ing and purpose in homes of that day. The set- 
 tled opinion of the community, handed down 
 from the preceding generation was, that a girl in 
 taking up life in a new home, must come to show 
 the effects of toil else she would not prove her- 
 self a worker. This would amount to little less 
 than a disgrace. 
 
 90 
 
FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 " I tell you that wife of Jake's is a worker," 
 her father-in-law would exclaim, with a smile of 
 satisfaction at thought of how her labor would 
 bring in sheckels to the credit of the family name. 
 As the years rolled by, and the daughter-in-law 
 became a gaunt, homely creature, looking the 
 part of one of the played-out farm m.achines, the 
 old man figured out with contented chuckles 
 what a paying investment she had been. 
 
 Finally, it came to pass thst on a Sunday even- 
 ing, Henry appeared at church with Miss Z, an 
 estimable young lady well known for her ability 
 as a teacher in the local schools. Community in- 
 terest at sight of the pair, was naturally spiritec'. 
 They were eagerly watched to see if the regulation 
 half-dozen-times-in-public sign would comie; and 
 when it did, the remark was current that Mary 
 was probably going to "take a school of one pupil." 
 For they counted her too courteous to break the 
 established local precedent. 
 
 The motive actuating this practical young man 
 was, no doubt, one of matrimonious intent. Just 
 what idea possessed Miss Z when accepting the 
 
 91 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 services of Mr. B as escort, cannot be stated with 
 accuracy. But after some months had passed, it 
 did become certain that this attractive young lady 
 was very unconcerned, and far from appearing 
 anxious to wed our thrifty young Henry. On 
 his part, there was good evidence of being badly 
 smitten. The watchful ones before mentioned, 
 declared that he wore a worried lock; and they 
 frankly admitted to being puzzled. 
 
 For this had broken all local precedents. The 
 prairie maiden had accepted the attentive atten- 
 tions of Mr. B and his new buggy, nearly a year. 
 There were no indications of an engagement — 
 no proof of any kind of results. Now don't that 
 beat you? But during that period of time, a 
 gradual change had come over the Nebraska 
 diamond-in-the-rough. Like the dull winter land- 
 scape gradually changes under the influence of 
 spring, into a living and interesting thing, so our 
 Henry had blossomed out, in the sunshine of a 
 charming girl's influence. 
 
 Some of the watchful ones approached him in 
 divers manners, and "tactfully" tried to find out 
 
 92 
 
"At one of the almost tree-covered bridges 
 over Lincoln creek, he made crossing." 
 
 page 93 
 
FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 as to progress. He was positively noncommital, 
 but from his manner they inferred that he also 
 would like to be sure of positive progress in his 
 unexpectedly slow wooing. 
 
 On those perfect early summer evenings, when 
 the valley of Lincoln creek lay bathed in the soft 
 light of the setting sun, with all shades of green 
 on trees and corn — with golden yellow on fields 
 of ripening wheat — it was time to look for the 
 young farmer. At one of the almost tree- covered 
 bridges over the little stream, he m.ade crossing, 
 on the road leading to the hom.e of his heart's de- 
 sire. Possibly an hour or so later, they might 
 be seen on the streets of York, for that horse was 
 a traveler from"away back." 
 
 At last, the watchful ones noted a change in 
 the young man's face. It bespoke relief and hap- 
 piness, but they could get no information in words 
 from him. In those days, there was no heralding 
 an engagement to the world before hand; and 
 actual wedding invitations came only a week or 
 two before the event. It sometimes hurried the 
 guests to purchase presents. 
 
 93 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 So without public announcement, but with 
 those interested all satisfied now as to the status 
 of the pair, the matter stood awaiting proof— a 
 wedding. More evidence came, when the watch- 
 ful ones learned that Mary was not going to teach 
 again the coming year. Still more, when her 
 mother was seen selecting wall paper and paint, 
 in early September. 
 
 Only actual residents of Nebraska know whrt 
 perfect days and nights October brings. We 
 have "atmosphere" then. For a wedding present, 
 this month gave the couple one of the grandest 
 nights possible. The moonlight was so enthrall- 
 ing, it could only have been intended for some 
 happy event. Clouds and rain would have made 
 much inconvenience to the guests coming over 
 the country roads. 
 
 Henry crossed the creek bridge again as the 
 little valley lay weird and still under influence of 
 the moon s beautiful gift. He was not in his 
 new buggy on this great occasion, but in the 
 family carriage with parents and brothers. It 
 was just as well someone else was driving, for he 
 
 94 
 
FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 was in such a daze the rules of the road might 
 have bothered him. Happy beyond expression, 
 yet fearing the ordeal ahead. 
 
 When they reached the driveway leading to 
 the home of his soon-to-be parents-in-law, he had 
 a wild desire to leap out and hide among the trees 
 or in the corn. But at the same time, he knew 
 that was the last thing he would ever do. His 
 desire for flight came when the house suddenly 
 flashed in full view from behind the grove. It 
 was ablaze with light in every room — something 
 he had never seen there before. Carriages and 
 buggies of the neighbors and other invited guests 
 were fairly packed around the yards, and — he 
 gulped hard at the thought — only one hour more 
 until he must face the host. His hand went to 
 the vest pocket where the ring reposed, to again 
 give assurance of its safety. 
 
 They mercifully took him in at a side door. 
 He saw the familiar faces of many as he passed 
 a decorated arch between two rooms, and he had 
 another sinking spell at the flashing thought of 
 how soon he must be standing under that flower 
 
 95 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 covered half circle, with the eyes of all those rel- 
 atives and neighbors to see his finish — at least, 
 in his present state of mind, it seemed that the 
 finish must surely come. 
 
 But someone came just then and led him up 
 stairs; saying a lady wanted to see him. He was 
 gently thrust into a room — was he dreaming — 
 with just one person in it, and that — the pretti- 
 est girl he ever saw — Mary in her bridal dress. 
 Woman that she was, and knowing him as she 
 did, his state of mind had been fully anticipated. 
 With her arms around his neck and a few words 
 of cheer, she turned him into a man of valor. 
 Under the arch at the appointed time he faced 
 the multitude. His calmness kept him in won- 
 der at himself, and also at his bride, for her 
 power to calm him. 
 
 Though every word of the ceremony came to 
 him sharply, as a solemn thing, those vagaries 
 in which the mind can indulge unbidden, made 
 him notice things almost subconsciously. There 
 sat several neighbors who looked so strange with 
 collars and neckties on. He had not thought it 
 
 96 
 
FOR COURTING PURPOSES ONLY 
 
 possible for those men to submit to such adorn- 
 ment, even for a wedding. He noticed small 
 fry of the various families, with mouths wide 
 open and breathing almost suspended, getting a 
 first view of such a function. Just as you and 
 I — reader — tock our first view in gaping awe. 
 He saw also, the parents of the girl who was 
 leaving the safe sheltering home of her girlhood 
 for him. It was really a bold thing for him to 
 take her from that home, and why did she con- 
 sent to go away with him, and — " I pronounce 
 you man and wife," ended his helpless vagaries, 
 and he saw the neighbors trying to tear the new 
 Mrs. Blank away from him in their eagerness to 
 wish her much joy; and found himself saying 
 "thank you" to congratulations. 
 
 Henry was a new man. The one who started 
 out in a new buggy to get a wife in such a mat- 
 ter of fact way, had become fit material for a 
 first class husband. 
 
 97 
 
"1 wish I was a little rock 
 
 A'Sitting on a hill, 
 An' doing nothing all day long, 
 
 But just a-settin' still, 
 
 I wouldn't eat, I wouldn't drink, 
 
 I wouldn't even wash. 
 But set and set a thousand years, 
 
 And rest myself, by gosh!" 
 
 The police are searching 
 for the miscreant who 
 wrote the above lines. 
 
VII 
 
 BASIN DAYS 
 
 Tonight, as the lamp flame is adjusted for the 
 evening, a melodious whistle comes floating far 
 thru the still air. An Ohio river boat will make 
 landing soon. By some sort of suggestion the 
 tliought comes that there is a kind of family like- 
 ness between frogs and steamboats. When the 
 sound of the whistles die away as the river ebbs 
 to the low stage, it reminds one of the silence of 
 the frogs when their ponds go dry. As the riv- 
 er begins to ' rise, first comes whistles of small 
 packets. Then with a still deeper channel, comes 
 the melodious boom of those announcing arrival 
 of heavier boats, and the powerful pushers of 
 the fleets of coal barges. In August, strolling 
 over wide sections of its dry bed, and observing 
 the rather narrow channel yet flowing, it seems 
 strange to think of how soon river traffic will be 
 floating high overhead. 
 
 99 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Along a stretch of Egyptian Nile valley where 
 rain never falls, there are natives who will not 
 believe that water ever falls from the sky. They 
 point to chalk marks which have remained for 
 centuries on old walls, as unanswerable argument 
 for their belief. Let one of these natives be sud- 
 denly spirited into our rrddst, when a typical 
 American thunder storm is in progress. How 
 would he describe it on reaching home again, 
 allowing that fright did not kill him during the 
 fireworks. Again, let this benighted son of the 
 Nile, awake in our Platte river valley after long 
 dfouth and gaze on these silent channels of sand, 
 with small willow-covered islands everywhere. 
 He might think this another Egypt. 
 
 Small sons of the Nebraska pioneers were in 
 many cases greatly hampered, in attempts at the 
 water sports so dear to boyish hearts. In these 
 early days on the plains, our horizon line was a 
 simple and unadorned circle — so level was it at 
 all points of the compass. To the child, wonders 
 of the world outside must all be left to the im- 
 agination. Monotony of the prairie gave little to 
 
 100 
 
BASIN DAYS 
 
 aid a young mind in forming comparisons with 
 scenes in nature elsewhere. The small creeks, 
 few in number, with some trees along the banks, 
 were all that could help form ideas of forests and 
 rivers far away. There was no hill to illustrate 
 the theory of mountains. Sometimes when walk- 
 ing up the side of a steep "draw," the boy tried 
 to imagine it a canon cliff. There was no trace 
 of rock in York county, so all interest in geolcgy 
 died quite young. 
 
 However, for lakes and oceans there was some- 
 thing which assisted by a glowing fancy, helped 
 to form a reproduction of them on a small scale. 
 This something was the low spots on the prairie 
 known as, "basins." With melting of winter's 
 snow followed by the spring rains, these slight 
 depressions became filled with water sparkling 
 in the warm sunlight just as gloriously as a real 
 lake. Favorable springs caused the frogs to voice 
 their satisfaction quite early at times. By April, 
 there was a shouting chorus of them outdoing 
 all the sounds in nature, excepting the thunder 
 which came with the rains. 
 
 101 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 To escape criticism of technical persons, it 
 must be explnained that we are now aware from 
 knowledge gained later, how toads made most of 
 the racket. But in that day we did not know 
 it; so as those distant spring days come back now 
 in memory, it is all frog because we were raised 
 that way. Such an authority as William Gibson 
 can be quoted in calling a frog chorus the sweet- 
 est sound in nature. Therefore no apology is 
 needed for dwelling on it for a moment, although 
 some will scoff. Be that as it may, the person 
 who does not feel a strange sensation of gladness 
 at sound of the frog*s first spring notes, deserves 
 the pity of those more fortunate. 
 
 When warm spring days came, and the frog 
 chorus was almost incessant day or night, the 
 basin edge became a seashore for prairie boys. 
 True, there was no sand, and the waves did not 
 rise very high; but other wonders abounded on 
 every hand. There was no danger of drowning 
 when navigating the rafts, or water-tight boxes 
 which passed for boats. A story did go around, 
 telling of a very large basin several miles away, 
 
 102 
 
BASIN DAYS 
 
 in which the water was three feet deep. That 
 seemed a terrible thing, and there was a great 
 desire to gaze on the awful depths. 
 
 Those temporary lakes, had their moods like 
 the sea. On still sunny days, they lay shining 
 like a mirror framed in green. The water, im- 
 less stirred up by the cattle wading in to drink, 
 was clear, tinged with the green of growing fun- 
 gus. It was thickly inhabited by such monsters 
 as tadpoles, water beetles and lots of darting little 
 fellows, whose nam.es are too hard to spell. It 
 was like a tropical sea in miniature, and the won- 
 ders of its animal life interested the young natu- 
 ralists, fully as much as these of a real sea could 
 have done in later years. 
 
 The interest in living things of those basins, 
 did not wane. After some years, the youths be- 
 came proud owners of a powerful microscope. 
 Then brother Tadpcle, etherized and scientific- 
 ally tied down, became a martyr to science — or 
 more precisely in this case — budding curiosity. 
 But with first view of blood corpuscles gliding 
 Indian fashion through the forest of capillary 
 
 103 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 paths, and joining the crowd again in the veins, 
 there came a thrill at the wonder of it all which 
 has never been forgotten. 
 
 At the water's edge, cow tracks imprinted in 
 the mud, stood full. Sometimes an unfortimate 
 tadpole would be found swimming excitedly in 
 one of these small pockets; landed there prob- 
 ably by splashing of the cows as they waded in 
 to drink. Duty then, was to put him back into 
 the main body of water, before he perished by 
 the wayside. It had been taught that frogs and 
 toads were friends of the farmer, and all assist- 
 ance given in protecting the spring crop of incip- 
 ient croakers, would give valuable returns in the 
 future. When later in the season, moist ground 
 near the water was seen alive with toadlets just 
 rid of their tails, it looked like the farm would 
 have to be enlarged to hold them at maturity. 
 But the law of survival of the fittest seemed to 
 hit them pretty hard, and we had no trouble in 
 feeding those who managed to grow up. 
 
 There were other investigators around the ba- 
 sins on those bright spring and early summer 
 
 104 
 
BASIN DAYS 
 
 days. Wild duck, snipe, blackbirds, crane and 
 odds and ends of bird life. They came for both 
 business and pleasure, judging from their actions. 
 On windy days, the surface of the water was 
 ruffled; and where a considerable stretch of it 
 lay free from vegetable growth, small sparkling 
 waves would roll. The murmur of wind thru 
 thick water grass, the light lapping of water, the 
 monotone of frogs and toads; calls cf birds at the 
 water's edge, and of ducks bobbing serene yet 
 vigilant at the basin s center — all under the spell 
 of a sky filled with fleecy floating clouds, made 
 up one of Nature's harmonies which will always 
 linger in memory. 
 
 Have you — prairie pioneer, now busy from 
 morning to night watering the lawn of your new 
 California home — forgotten the roadside ditches 
 that stood full of water before our modern high- 
 ways were built ? Here was another place for 
 the Batrachian family to tune their voices. One 
 might approach such a section of road, and hear 
 a bedlam of noise ahead. At the beginning of 
 the ditch, croaking died away. There was a si- 
 
 105 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 lent spot which moved along keeping pace with 
 the traveler. At the rear the racket was again 
 in full blast, closing rapidly behind the victim 
 like water at the stern of a boat. When safely 
 beyond it all, he knew that the sea of noise was 
 as tranquil as if his craft had not caused a wave 
 in passing. 
 
 It is one thing to hear a few miscellaneous 
 frogs and toads chirping at random in some favor- 
 ite spot, and another to hear the roar of an im- 
 numbered host. In the latter case, individuality 
 and the individual have passed to oblivion, and 
 the steady volume of noise comes forceful and 
 unwavering, like a machine made product. Pos- 
 sibly "roar," is used unadvisedly; since data is 
 not at hand to tell just how far it can go up the 
 scale before becoming a yell. 
 
 While our land of grassy plains was rather 
 short of water on the surface, we had an unlim- 
 ited supply below; and never ran short during 
 dry summers as do the eastern states in many lo- 
 calities. We did not know anything about going 
 to a spring branch for water, but the earth could 
 
 106 
 
BASIN DAYS 
 
 be tapped anywhere with a certainty of getting 
 a flow for a lifetime. 
 
 " Boring a well, " made a time of excitement 
 for the youngsters. That eighty or hundred feet 
 which the augur went down to reach gravel was 
 like penetrating to the very center of the earth. 
 Sight of a derrick was generally first sign that a 
 new home was to be founded on the prairie, so 
 one accustomed to eastern ways only might think 
 prospecting for oil was in progress. 
 
 There were no "dug" wells, excepting an oc- 
 casional one in the creek valleys. So we had no 
 fatalities caused by walls caving in on the exca- 
 vators; and nobody falling in after they were fin- 
 ished. The long slim bucket fitted the "tubing" 
 closely, and the creaking of wheel and wooden 
 drum was heard thruout the land. If the light 
 was right, there was a round bright spot at the 
 bottom, about the size of a silver dollar. It was 
 all a thing of mystery — this looking down into 
 unknown depths of earth. 
 
 Coming of the windmill, solved our water 
 question. There was no need of a spring branch 
 
 107 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 after that came. Laborious cranking of the drum 
 was struck off the list of rural hardships. Noth- 
 ing in the way of farm improvement could give 
 the household generally more satisfaction than 
 the new "tower" and a mill whose gaudy paint 
 flashed in the sun. It was a day of triumph for 
 the youngsters when the windmill agent, having 
 finished assembling the wonder, loaded the tco's 
 into his wagon and started back to town or his 
 next anxiously awaiting customer. 
 
 Sure there was some wrangling among neigh- 
 borhood kids, as to the merits of the various 
 mills owned by their respective fathers. And 
 some jealousy was caused by a few towers higher 
 than the others. But when one was erected over 
 forty feet "taU," all petty strife was ended to unite 
 against the common enemy — the boy who lived 
 where the sky-scraper stood. 
 
 In the draws " buffalo wallows, " were often 
 found. We were told that the buffalo bunched 
 in fly-time, and the stamping of their hoofs in 
 the moist earth, made depressions which now 
 stood full of water left by the temporary stream 
 
 108 
 
BASIN DAYS 
 
 coursing there after rains. Believe this or not, 
 as you see fit. 
 
 During summer they were scenes of hilarious 
 sport, fulfilling the mission of " The old swim- 
 min hole." M^st bathers might have preferred 
 more sanitary conditions. But the warm, stag- 
 nant pools splashed just as well as cleaner water 
 could have done; and the secluded location gave 
 entire freedom to the movements. That was — 
 bathing costumes were utterly discarded. 
 
 Running down the side of the draw and jump- 
 ing in, created a concussion which stunned little 
 fishes and left them floating on the surface. The 
 bathers revived these in a bucket, and took the 
 victims home. Here imprisoned in improvised 
 aquariums, they lived about twenty-four hours 
 on an average. Great indignation was caused, 
 when the home folks told us that it was not the 
 concussion of our violent impact with the water 
 which stunned the fish. They claimed it was 
 because we were so dirty. 
 
 109 
 
VIII 
 SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 An army of wild geese hundreds in number, 
 turns from its regular line of aerial march; wheels 
 in majestic circles, lower and lower. With bro- 
 ken ranks, much chattering and flapping of the 
 wings, they alight in a field. It looks like solid 
 acres of geese. 
 
 There is excitement in nearby farmhouses, for 
 roast goose is not to be despised. Feather beds 
 and pillows are needed in the household. The 
 birds have seen to it that their feeding ground 
 is in the clear, with little chance of ambuscade. 
 Level fields and prairie are on all sides. 
 
 Half a mile away, a horse starts toward the 
 feeding flock. His movements seem rather con- 
 strained and peculiar, judging from the easy gait 
 of an animal left to his own devices. As he 
 nears the flock, it can be noticed that his line of 
 
 111 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 travel will pass a little to one side of the geese. 
 When less than an hundred yards from them— 
 Horrors ! — the horse was loaded. 
 
 Two shots ring out, and as the mass of geese 
 rises hurriedly, two more are fired by the man 
 concealed at the side of the horse. Over the 
 fields come the youngsters from the house, to 
 help carry in the game. Then roast gocse is en 
 the menu for a week. It will pall on the appetite 
 before the finish. 
 
 Either a horse or cow would answer for the 
 moving blind to screen the hunter's approach, if 
 the animal was tractable, and could be induced 
 to walk at its master's side. The thing most 
 provocative of profanity, in days when the fields 
 of the prairie were feeding grounds for myriads 
 of wild geese during the migrating season, was 
 the horse or cow, trained for the stalking, but 
 who queered the deal when just out of shot gun 
 range by whirling around and exposing the fran- 
 tic man to view of the birds. In such a case, 
 only the value of the animal kept it from being 
 killed and buried right there. 
 
 112 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Those days, now gone forever, when the first 
 clarion call of the wild goose on its journey north- 
 ward over the plains of Nebraska, to the lakes 
 where the broods were reared, gave a thrill to 
 those tired of the long winter and eagerly watch- 
 ing for signs of spring. When in the fall the 
 flocks passed southward, it gave no thrill, for 
 we knew that in the wake of those long, flying 
 wedges, with each unit in the line holding its 
 place so perfectly. Winter was following at his 
 own sweet pleasure. 
 
 To lie in bed at night and hear first, the faint 
 and far away notes of an approaching squadron, 
 gradually increasing in distinctness and volume 
 as it came nearer. Loud chattering and honking 
 as the travelers passed overhead. Then gradual 
 dying away in the distance, and finally to find 
 yourself straining the ears to get a last, faint honk. 
 It wove a queer spell — that unseen passing in the 
 night, of those creatures obeying the mysterious 
 migrating command. 
 
 The wild ducks obeyed it also — untold num- 
 bers of them, but they wasted little breath in 
 
 113 
 
 I 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 publishing the fact to the natives, as they swift- 
 ly passed over with no more than the sound of 
 wings to herald their flight. The thought comes 
 of spring days, hidden in a cornstalk " blind " at 
 the edge of a basin, with a bunch of more or less 
 realistic "decoys" bobbing on the shallow water, 
 the hunter scanned the southern sky for a line of 
 ducks. Then he anxiously watched to see wheth- 
 er or not they would alight to feed with his wood- 
 en imitations. These stoical w^ooden ducks were 
 trained to take misplaced charges of shot without 
 a murmur. For sooner or later, some excitable 
 strolling hunter would let drive, and then slink 
 out of sight when the mistake dawned on his 
 poor, crazed brain. 
 
 In any review of sights and sounds of yesterday 
 on our Nebraska prairie, the blackbird must be 
 given prominent place, for he was always among 
 those present. And it is a pleasure to know he 
 is there yet, happy as ever. 
 
 Concerning them, the Encyclopaedia Britan- 
 nica says. — "The blackbird is of a shy and rest- 
 less disposition, courting concealment, and rarely 
 
 114 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 seen in flocks, or otherwise than singly or in 
 pairs, etc." 
 
 The wires are crossed somewhere. This usu- 
 ally reliable authority has made either a bad tan- 
 gle in characterization, or the English bird is 
 really quite different, don't you know. Only 
 one attribute fits our own bird — "restless disposi- 
 tion. " The allegation of his shyness, courting 
 concealment, aversion to flocking— well, it aint 
 him noway. A host of witnesses could be drawn 
 from the farms, to testify as to the fallicy of the 
 accusations. 
 
 " Four and twenty blackbirds cooked in a pie." 
 Possibly the great number of hunters looking for 
 pie material in England, gave the bird reason to 
 act differently on that side of the water. He was 
 not a hunter's target in the prairie states. Dur- 
 ing long days in the fields, flocks of them became 
 companions of the farmer. Whenever the soil 
 was being stirred, the bird was always on hand; 
 and it was goodbye for all worms turned out in 
 the new furrow. The diversion of looking back 
 from the plow at that bobbing line of trim black 
 
 115 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 coats, fairly flashing in the sun, was a pleasure 
 when monotony made time hang heavily. 
 
 " Singly or in pairs, " indeed. If ever birds 
 seemed to enjoy flocking, these birds did. What 
 about those grand concerts which were held in 
 the Cottonwood groves, where hundreds sat on 
 the swaying branches, each adding voice to the 
 swelling — well, probably it was not harmony in 
 the strict sense of the word; but each bird's note 
 seemed to tell of contentment in the sunshine of 
 prairie summer. 
 
 In the far distant yesterdays, there was always 
 something impressive in the sight of lumber piles 
 and other building materials, lying on the build- 
 ing spot of a quarter section of raw prairie, ready 
 to be fashioned into a new home. It seemed en- 
 tirely different from a place "in the clearing," 
 such as many of the settlers had known east of 
 the Mississippi in youth. 
 
 Then came breaking of sod, and a piece of the 
 quarter lay black and smooth, excepting kinks 
 here and there. They were unsightly as far as 
 neatness of the plowed tract was concerned. It 
 
 116 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 was held by some, that the more kinky and dis- 
 orderly new furrows lay, the better. Quick rot- 
 ting of severed grass roots was desired. Torn 
 and mangled sod helped. But it was considered 
 an accomplishment, if one could make the black 
 ribbon turn over and lie flat as it left the mould 
 board of the plow. 
 
 The kinks looked like miniature wigwams open 
 on one side, when seen at a little distance. Jack 
 rabbits evidently considered them to be such, as 
 they used them frequently for hiding places or 
 shelter. The prairie chickens looked on them 
 with favor, but the striped ground squirrel view- 
 ed this encroachment with alarm. When the 
 sod was ready for corn planting, however, he 
 had the time of his life digging up seed. 
 
 Speaking of Jack rabbits — that is a reminder 
 of how they assisted the prairie hens in hatching 
 their eggs, and caring for young broods. Hun- 
 ters with bird-dogs, were hot on the trail of the 
 hens. Nests were left, if the mother birds were 
 killed during the hatching season. Then the in- 
 telligence of this rabbit, as well as his noble na- 
 
 117 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 ture was strikingly shown. He was always alert 
 for deserted nests of eggs. When a tragedy of 
 that kind happened, Mr. Rabbit was Johnny-on- 
 the-spot. He settled right down on the eggs and 
 kept them warm until they hatched; then care- 
 fully watched and protected the young chicks un- 
 til they could fly. 
 
 When the covey flew in a bunch over the stub- 
 ble fields, this foster-father, or mother, as you 
 like it, — this case might become complicated if 
 the sex of the rabbit is considered,— but we'll 
 drop all that. This adopted parent ran along be- 
 neath the covey, and when the birds alighted in 
 a Cottonwood tree, this long-eared chaperone 
 climbed the trunk and sat with themi. But the 
 ludicrous climax came, v/hen he attempted to 
 give the call of the mother hen — what's that ? 
 Certainly we don't believe it. 
 
 Seriously though, the jack rabbit did help us 
 to judge the mental calibre of our dogs in those 
 days. The wise ones did not waste energy chas- 
 ing them, while the foolish spent the running 
 period of thier lives at it. To see a dog frantic- 
 
 118 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 ally hoofing it after a jack rabbit, yelping at every 
 step — dog yelping, not the rabbit — proved him 
 to be either mentally deficient, or a newcomer 
 in the region. 
 
 But to continue about breaking prairie. It 
 was a clean, clear-cut job; one of the most pleas- 
 ant on the new farm. There Vv^as always the 
 feeling, which, though hard to describe, was to 
 the effect that one here commenced away back 
 where nature had left off; having prepared us a 
 thing which it had not in all lands left ready for 
 man— a soil that might be put in crop shape 
 without great labor. 
 
 This reflection might not come to a later gen- 
 eration, raised in the west. But to those reared 
 in lands of timber and rock, where the toil of 
 clearing had put the droop on many a strong pair 
 of shoulders — the taking of these level and unob- 
 structed Nebraska acres direct from nature, all 
 ready for the plow, was something which could 
 not pass as mere matter of fact. 
 
 The appreciation was such, that no matter 
 how discontented the pioneer became, hs stuck 
 
 119 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 to the job. The per cent who went back to the 
 old states, was too small for calculation. Some 
 had come overland in the far-famed prairie 
 schooner ar that. 
 
 The day of this vehicle is so long gone that 
 children of the new-old land, hear of it as a mat- 
 ter of history. If one passes now, the chances 
 are that a trader in third rate horses is looking 
 for suckers along the way. 
 
 The white-covered wagon s significance and 
 importance in pioneer days is forgotten. But in 
 their time, they carried the nucleus of untold 
 numbers of new homes, where prosperity was 
 to come after years of toil, isolation and discour- 
 agement. As the eastern counties became set- 
 tled, with consequent increase of land values, 
 the wagons with white covers over their bows 
 passed on thru to the area further west yet un- 
 broken. At the time, it seemed alright. Those 
 who journeyed thus were only repeating methods 
 of some of our county's settlers a few years be- 
 fore. The cheap lands these later homeseekers 
 coveted, proved to be beyond the region of suff i- 
 
 120 
 
"At the stackyard, signs of three crops told 
 of a continuous performance in the raising of 
 wheat. The straw piles of last year's crop — 
 the new stacks just built, and plowing for a 
 sowing soon to coTie." 
 
 page 1 78 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 cient rainfall. After a few years of struggle, the 
 bitter truth was realized. The detailed history 
 of some of those abandoned places on the semi- 
 arid stretches, would make as sad tragedies as 
 ever were written. 
 
 A solitary grave here and there, where no 
 community cemetery had been established, spoke 
 mutely of the distance from medical aid, or del- 
 icacies for the sick one. It spoke also of the 
 loneliness and desolation in the hour of trial, 
 when old friends and scenes seemed so far away. 
 Sometimes after the fight against such heavy odds 
 had been given up, and the family was back in 
 a more promising location, the bones of the one 
 who winked out on the dry and sandy homestead 
 were brought back to rest near the living. The 
 thought of that solitary grave away out there un- 
 der the quiet stars, had been too disagreeable. 
 While the dead did not care, it spoke volumes 
 for the tie which binds human hearts. Today, 
 how many of those who view the struggling edges 
 of settlement in dry portions of the west, give a 
 thought to the lives in these homes ? 
 
 121 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 It is a wonderful thing — that persistence of the 
 mind in bringing up everything excepting facts 
 bearing on the subject at hand. The more you 
 try to get away from a foolish suggestion, the 
 stronger it gets. When all effort goes to bring 
 back in memory, sights and sounds of yesterday, 
 why is it that such an outlandish pair of words 
 as — "Agricultural Paint," crowds out more lofty 
 thoughts? Not so bad for the theme at hand 
 after all, however. That paint was a sight, and 
 loud enough to miake a sound. 
 
 It certainly made a bright spot on the farm 
 landscape, when a new corn planter, binder or 
 other rural instrument was brought home. The 
 splendors of A. P. with which it was covered 
 could not be outdone — for a week or two. A 
 heavy dew would dull the lustre of it to a per- 
 ceptible extent, and after a few weeks of scorch- 
 ing sun it peeled off like the skin from frozen 
 ears in winter time. The man who invented our 
 alleged agricultural paint, is unsung and unhung 
 — much pity for the latter. But the stuff was 
 some gorgeous as one gazed at the en semble of 
 
 122 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 the implement dealer's collection in the show- 
 room; and it has given tone to state and county 
 fairs for many years. At times, it covered up a 
 multitude of sins also. A pine tongue, or pair 
 of double-trees of the same material, looked just 
 as strong under the influence of said A. P. as if 
 made of strongest oak. 
 
 An epidemic of bright red barn paint ran its 
 course in the community once. It was surely a 
 gay looking neighborhood for a little while. But 
 when the bloom was gone, those barns looked 
 like a relapse. The agent never came back to 
 sell a second order of A. P. 
 
 The brilliant hues of a new wagon were of a 
 more lasting quality. Probably they were high 
 grade A. P. This vehicle seemed a veritable 
 chariot on four wheels, as the implement dealer 
 greased it up for the journey; and all the neigh- 
 bors took notice as the owner proudly wended 
 his way homeward. But for delicacy and refine- 
 ment, the new buggy held all honors. It was a 
 sign that someone was feeling prosperous, or that 
 a young man was entering society. 
 
 123 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 The sounds of yesterday on the prairie — what 
 a host of them. But just now for some reason, 
 there comes with the silence broken by the hum- 
 ming of the lamp's flame, the sound of the first 
 raindrops on the corn leaves, after a narrow es- 
 cape from ruin of the crop by dry weather. That 
 misery of suspense and discomfort of threatened 
 drouth, drawing nearer each day. 
 
 To know that all of your duty toward the grow- 
 ing crop has been done, and to realize that na- 
 ture's inscrutable plan holds the measure of your 
 wealth for the year. To know that the storm 
 period with its dangers to rows of tall, waving 
 stalks, has all been passed. Then to watch the 
 skies of hot and dry days follow in monotonous 
 succession, when clouds of hope formed in the 
 afternoon, only to fade at sunset. 
 
 One night when it seemed that the last chance 
 was gone, the wind began to tire of its steady 
 drive from the south. By bedtime, all was as 
 calm as motionless leaves could make it. The 
 sky had clouded over as gradually and evenly as 
 a dissolving view on a picture screen. Then to 
 
 124 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 many whose ears were fairly strained to catch it, 
 came the faintest possible murmur — the delicate 
 patter of scattering raindrops on the corn leaves, 
 waiting with burning thirst. 
 
 Agonizing suspense, — to know whether or not 
 it was but a splash from a sky which might soon 
 be showing stars, and none cared to see them 
 that night. The patter of drops increased, and 
 soon it was a strong healthy sound of falling rain 
 which abated not. The heavens were open at 
 last. As he lay on his bed, the tired tiller of the 
 soil listened to the downpour on the shingled 
 roof, and he gave a huge sigh of relief, as it 
 lulled him to sleep. 
 
 The days which followed — what is more sat- 
 isfying, if the field is yours, at least, than to 
 watch those shoots breaking out. The silk and 
 tassel — the young ears fattening day after day — 
 until under their own weight they break down 
 and hang, ripening into hardness. 
 
 There is more of the personal in an acquaint- 
 ance with a field of corn. The stalks have an 
 individuality unlike those of the small grains. One 
 
 125 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 might come to notice certain ears and watch the 
 gradual development, and finally hang them on 
 the wall as trophies of a year. 
 
 Another familiar sound from distant days, is 
 the melodious chirp of our human croaker, who 
 gave his call after the first spring rain. This 
 peculiar and interesting creature was not found 
 in basins with the frogs. Usually, his song came 
 from local newspaper offices — " A good crop of 
 small grain is now assured. " This most trustful 
 and innocent creature of nature's lower kingdom 
 was never able to learn that a rain, or even sev- 
 eral of them after the crops were growing, could 
 easily be blotted out by wind and sun of a dry 
 period, until harvest time gave but a series of 
 sighs for what might have been. 
 
 A trolley car, passing and repassing with some- 
 thing defective about its motor gearing, has been 
 making sounds which suggested a thing long ob- 
 solete — the old circle sweep, tumbling- rod driven 
 threshing machine. That merciless grind of the 
 " horse power," with tired, sweating teams fol- 
 lowing the tramped and worn circle. 
 
 126 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 Threshing day was one of the few occasions of 
 the year, when kids did not have to be called 
 twice or more in the morning. They must be 
 up in time to see the separator "set" at the stacks^ 
 and the horses hitched to the " power." 
 
 With the coming of the first "steamier" — por- 
 table ones drawn from place to place by teams — 
 there was a new and increased excitement for 
 boys. To see the engineer feed that wonderful 
 little fire-box, and get up steam., gave a real thrill. 
 When "traction" engines came, and pulled them- 
 selves and the entire outfit from job to job, it 
 seemed that wonderful strides in invention were 
 being made. 
 
 To be the "feeder" of the separator, and spread 
 those bundles of wheat into the cylinders — that 
 was deemed a high honor by the boys. They 
 aspired to grow up and become feeders, as the 
 youths along the river aspire to be pilots of the 
 steamboats. In fact, the entire crew of four men 
 who "went" with the outfit, seemed to lead won- 
 derful lives. Think of it ! Putting up at a dif- 
 ferent house nearly every day — getting all the 
 
 127 
 
UNDER THE B^EROSENE LAMP 
 
 choice grub — a perfect ruin of chicken feathers 
 in their wake. 
 
 But that straw pile! It took away nearly all 
 the pleasure of threshing day. How the endless 
 stream of chaffy dusty stuff, did boil up and over 
 the top of the slatted carrier. The "blow" stack- 
 er Vv^asn't even dreamed of then. Like convicts, 
 those assigned to stacking by an unkind fate, took 
 their places and prepared to do battle; coming 
 down at last perspiring and dust covered. What 
 a Godsend it was when the machine broke down 
 for a few minutes, giving opportunity to rest on 
 the soft bed. Some of the community threshing 
 outfits were in disrepute with the small fry, be- 
 cause they hardly ever broke down. 
 
 Again it comes — the rustling sound of drying 
 corn leaves, waving in the cool breeze after first 
 frosts of early fall — that time of rest and relaxa- 
 tion for man, beast, and even soil of the fields. 
 True, we might be working along, but a sense 
 of restfulness from the strain of harvest time was 
 there. Even the fields felt the spell; for the aft- 
 ermath of green which soon hid the fading yellow 
 
 128 
 
SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY 
 
 and brown of the stubble, was like a short play 
 period for the soil between crops. But when 
 after a wet harvest, it stood high and luxuriant, 
 half hiding the discolored and sprouting shocks, 
 the general appearance of the field suggested noth- 
 ing playful to the owner. 
 
 On these early fall mornings, when the sun's 
 rays felt just a little comfortable after chill of the 
 night; and big sparkling globules of frost stood 
 on the grasses and weeds — came the exhileration 
 of breathing deep the scent of drying corn, and 
 watching the ears loosen their husks. He who 
 cannot find inspiration in a stroll over the fields 
 of fair Nebraska on a morning like that, had best 
 arise, bow low to confess his shame — then pass 
 out and commune with himself, to find out what 
 is the matter with his soul. 
 
 129 
 
IX 
 
 OUR STREAMS AND VALLEYS 
 
 Sometimes there are prophets, who, as long 
 as they keep in their proper spheres, may be 
 shining lights or fountains of knowledge to us les- 
 ser ones of the common herd; but let them get 
 beyond their range, and the prognostic talent be- 
 comes as sounding brass. Even as late as 1858, 
 only three years before the Civil war began, one 
 of our ponderous monthly magazines which yet 
 remains among the best — when it keeps in its 
 proper place — published an article from which 
 the following paragraph is taken. 
 
 "The people of the United States have reached 
 their inland western frontier, and the banks of 
 the Missouri river are the shores at the termina- 
 tion of a vast ocean desert over one thousand 
 miles in breadth, which it is proposed to travel, 
 if at all, by caravans of camels, and which inter- 
 pose a final barrier to the establishment of large 
 communities, agricultural, commercial, or even 
 pastoral." 
 
 131 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 To stand today at the great railway depots in 
 Omaha or Kansas City, and see the immense 
 trains arriving from this "vast ocean desert," re- 
 minds one that the "caravans of camels," come 
 there only with the circus, when it makes the 
 annual tour with a mile of cars. 
 
 Why did the people of eastern states, persist 
 so long in judging the prairie region west of the 
 Missouri river by the standard of a desert ? Even 
 today, predjudice has not entirely disappeared. 
 After a number of years in the Ohio valley, the 
 author has discovered that Nebraska does not ex- 
 ist as far as the majority of the natives are con- 
 cerned. All they ever heard about it, was that 
 William J. Bryan lived at Lincoln. The state is 
 secure with them in its reputation as the home 
 of the great Commoner. They will never find 
 out that he transferred his citizenship to Florida. 
 Yes, we are off the map back there. 
 
 In the matter of antiquities, fifty years does 
 not amount to much; but in the history of the 
 plains, that length of time has been an age. The 
 settlers, commencing with a clean slate and new 
 
 132 
 
OUR STREAMS AND VALLEYS 
 
 materials, have built and accomplished much 
 which the east could copy to advantage. 
 
 Julian Street said in, "Abroad At Home," that 
 the average of the student body in the Univer- 
 sity of Kansas, was higher than that of eastern 
 colleges. The Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford 
 for 1921 was won by a Nebraska University boy 
 — a resident of our own York. 
 
 "Across the Missouri, " To many living no 
 farther east than Chicago, that phrase yet seerr^s 
 to savor of the far west. Since the prophet of 
 the fifties dubbed it the western boundary of civ- 
 ilization, it has been bridged in many places to 
 carry a large traffic to and from said desert. The 
 traveler, getting first sight of "The Big Muddy," 
 from a car window as the train crosses the bridge, 
 gets a view varying greatly with the time of year 
 or even day. 
 
 By moonlight, with the high bluffs rising from 
 the water's edge in forbidding blackness, made 
 intense by contrast with the brightly lighted sky 
 beyond their tops, and the swirling water flash- 
 ing back the mysterious glow of the night, it all 
 
 133 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 combines to make an impressive time of entry 
 for a new traveler in the land. 
 
 But if he had made the crossing on some late 
 summer or early fall day, when the river was at 
 low tide — with every old snag and bar out taking 
 the annual sun bath — the stranger might have 
 been less impressed. Again, he might cross in 
 broad daylight during a big rise, and get a view 
 well worth remembering. 
 
 The Missouri river valley as seen from the top 
 of a high bluff, has charms of its own. Many 
 miles of cotton wood-fringed "bottoms," with the 
 winding channels shining like broad ribbons — 
 all ending with a hazy vista of farms and trees in 
 the far distance — it equals anything on the con- 
 tinent for "practical" beauty. 
 
 Admiration for the stream is tempered some- 
 what in the same way one might feel when look- 
 ing at a handsome criminal. For that swirling, 
 silt-laden flood is continually perpetrating high 
 jinks on the valley settlers and their farms — even 
 undermining and tearing down high bluffs; but 
 any stream with an average fall of eighteen inches 
 
 134 
 
OUR STREAMS AND VALLEYS 
 
 per mile thru such a resistless soil, would be an 
 unruly member. 
 
 Knowledge of the Missouri's great length helps 
 to give it dignity. Navigable for over two thou- 
 sand miles, it was once a highway. To look at 
 its solitude of waters now, makes the day of its 
 importance as a means of navigation to develop 
 the great northwest, seems but a dream. The 
 wounded from the battlefields near where Custer 
 and his men met their fate, were brought home 
 by the long journey down this stream. Then, a 
 great number of packet steamers and no railroads. 
 Now, almost a complete reversal of conditions, 
 with the future debatable. 
 
 The mouth of the Missouri— a lapping, surg- 
 ing line resembling the wake of a steamer, as it 
 joins its flood with that of the Mississippi; and 
 is impressive when viewed from a boat's deck. 
 What a long way from this uniting place of the 
 great waters, to the source of either — especially 
 to that of the one which forms the "inland west- 
 ern frontier." Restless and shifting thru all its 
 course, force of habit keeps continuous the pro- 
 
 135 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 cess to the end. In the last fifty years, the loca- 
 tion of the mouth has changed several miles; and 
 long "made" flats covered with cottonwoods, are 
 evidence as to where the stream discharged its 
 flood in times past. Taking both the Missouri 
 and the Mississippi from their junction point to 
 source, it would be hard to find two American 
 rivers whose waters unite, and yet have such dif- 
 ferent dispositions and characters. 
 
 But we have wandered with the current, far 
 down stream — away from the east boundary line 
 of Nebraska, whose rivers and valleys have a 
 more personal interest. So back again up the 
 swirling and muddy waterway, to the mouth of 
 our famous, extremely broad, shallow and sandy 
 Platte; which, although being a river, almost es- 
 capes that responsibility. 
 
 With a length of twelve hundred miles, it is a 
 river when it has the water. But when the bed 
 lies dry and shining under the August sun, the 
 wide, level series of sandy channels with their 
 pretty little islands, make it look like an unful- 
 filled contract. In June, when all the breadth 
 
 136 
 
OUR STREAMS AND VALLEYS 
 
 of valley is a mat of green, and the channels run 
 full, the scene is one to remember as being equal 
 to others far more famed. 
 
 While shallow, it has a rapid current; and 
 quicksands make fording rather a dangerous prop- 
 osition. When it is practically dry, there comes 
 the curious spectacle of small streams within a 
 river. Narrow interlocking channels, cut down 
 several feet below the general level of the river 
 bottom, carry steady streams of perfectly clear 
 water coming from the underflow. The effect 
 is an odd one, and gives the idea that a series of 
 waterways are all occupying the same territory. 
 The fact that the Platte frequently has less water 
 at the mouth than far upstream, puzzles some of 
 the easterners when informed of the fact. 
 
 Though it be true that all water is wet, and 
 all rivers run down hill — there is yet a great va- 
 riety of sensations and impressions gained, when 
 first sight comes of renowned streams. Their 
 general appearance may be quite similar, but an 
 influence comes — brought about by thought of 
 the history of regions thru which they pass, and 
 
 137 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 affecting the beholder in a strange way. Just a 
 few examples from different parts of our country, 
 to illustrate the idea. 
 
 In old Concord, a view of the little river bear- 
 ing the same name, weaves in with the literary 
 traditions of the town a glamour which puts the 
 sluggish current in keeping with the neighbor- 
 hood. Hawthorne's descriptive power cannot 
 be better appreciated than by taking a stroll in 
 the locality of the Battle Bridge, and then read- 
 ing the description of it in the charming sketch, 
 "Mosses From An Old Manse." 
 
 In the lower valley of the Hudson, especially 
 where Ichabod Crane met his fate in adventure 
 with the headless horseman, something of the 
 spell induced by Irving's tales of the river is wov- 
 en into impressions one gets. And when the 
 tide is coming in, it gives chance for argument 
 as to whether rivers do always run down hill. 
 For the stately Hudson — really occupying but a 
 crack on the surface of the earth — barely gets by 
 in the river class at all. But it looks like one, 
 and a beautiful one at that. 
 
 138 
 
OUR STREAMS AND VALLEYS 
 
 And as hinted at before, in a westward cross- 
 ing of the Mississippi or Missouri, many eastern 
 folks get the idea that they are crossing a boun- 
 dary Hne into something — sometimes the end of 
 the earth. In the far west, excitement comes to 
 tourists all along the train when word is passed 
 that the Colorado is just ahead. After the long 
 ride thru nearly arid country, the appetite gets 
 strong for sight of a stream of any kind. The 
 "atmosphere" of the desert, and thought of the 
 long, winding miles the river makes in the soli- 
 tude of the Grand Canyon, combine to give the 
 ones seeing it for the first time, impressions far 
 different from those of other streams. 
 
 A river whose channel is stable and practically 
 unchanging, seems more like a settled institution. 
 It is general practice to speak of the "banks" of 
 small streams, but with such as the Ohio or the 
 Mississippi, it usually becomes "shores." And 
 these, especially of the Ohio, are certainly very 
 fickle ones. Those of this week, may be far be- 
 low or above those of last week. There is always 
 interest in watching those constantly changing 
 
 139 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 shore lines as the river rises and falls. To see 
 familiar bars, snags and other landmarks gradu- 
 ally disappear as the water rises, and see them 
 again come in sight, point by point as the stream 
 subsides a little more each day, always presents 
 some novelty. 
 
 Once more we have wandered, and must get 
 back to the mouth of the Platte. In the region 
 of Louisville, the bluffs with their rock quarries 
 help make a setting for this peculiar stream with 
 its quiet, shifting channels of sand. 
 
 Here, when June skies come, with beautiful 
 cloud decorations — there are days w^hen the chan- 
 nels are as blue as the sky above; and the green 
 of willow, Cottonwood, and many kinds of shrub 
 and grass — changing in tint as the cloud shadows 
 drift across the valley from bluff to bluff — make 
 a picture as dream-like and alluring, as ever did 
 Hudson at Tarry town. But — the people haven't 
 found it out yet. And there are nights under 
 the brilliant moon — with frogs and crickets to 
 give emphasis to the otherwise perfect stillness, 
 the scene is as enthralling as the witching hour 
 
 140 
 
OUR STREAMS AND VALLEYS 
 
 on the Tappan Zee in Irving's time. But — we 
 are sorry to add — some Nebaska people are going 
 to scoff when they read this. 
 
 Since the Platte has no waterfalls, is not nav- 
 igable, and passes thru a valley of peaceful, pas- 
 toral nature — those who demand excitement for 
 their daily tonic, might call it the river of silence. 
 When the channels go dry above the mouth of 
 the Loup, and the Platte valley lays scorching in 
 sun of a summer drouth — we would have to ad- 
 mit the correctness of such a name. Even fair 
 California has its seasons when the inhabitants 
 are less prone to sound its praises, and our retir- 
 ed prairie pioneers dwelling there, figure out 
 how much they were stung on that very orna- 
 mental bungalow, and wish they were back in 
 old Nebraska — until next winter. 
 
 The silence of the Platte may at times be only 
 the sign that the waters are in active service far 
 up stream — irrigating the fertile valley. For to- 
 day, it is productive of so great an amount of live 
 stock and all kinds of farm products, that a little 
 empire might be fed from it. 
 
 141 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 It is up to some statistical organization, to fig- 
 ure out how much shotgun ammunition has been 
 wasted in the Platte valley during the last quar- 
 ter of a century or more. Since there are com- 
 putations relative to how many shots are required 
 to kill a man in battle, it might be that an esti- 
 mate could arrive approximately at the number 
 of shots fired to kill a wild duck or goose. 
 
 What an interesting subject on which to spec- 
 ulate. How we long for space to do it justice. 
 Strange it is that the question has not been up 
 to public notice before this. Just consider it for 
 a few moments. 
 
 Here is the long stretch of valley, extending 
 in winding curves thru the entire length of the 
 state. The channels with so many little islands, 
 make ideal amduscades for the hunter. The mi- 
 grating season is at hand. Honking of the wild 
 geese and whirring of wild duck, stirs the blood 
 of prairie Nimrods for many miles away on each 
 side of the river. With wagons packed for the 
 slaughter, they close in on the valley — prepare 
 hiding places and secrete themselves, with decoys 
 
 142 
 
«l 
 
 c 
 
 3 
 UL 
 
 -I DO 
 O 
 
 O 
 
 > ^ 
 
OUR STREAMS AND VALLEYS 
 
 more or less ghastly and petrified looking, placed 
 at proper distance from the blinds. Bombard- 
 ment begins. 
 
 Some of those web-footed birds must have been 
 endowed with charmed lives, to escape all that 
 booming clatter of shot. It was just like fishing 
 — certain hunters went home with game, while 
 others returned without it. And the tales they 
 told of wonderful shots ! Ananias would have 
 wept in sheer jealousy to hear them. 
 
 Many scenes in other river valleys of Nebraska 
 are deserving of far more credit than allowed up 
 to date. Along the Loup — at Fullerton, for one 
 illustration. A view from the hills west of the 
 city, is one really inspiring — not for rugged or 
 startling features, but for the wealth of rich fields, 
 and pastures, with comfortable homes nestling 
 in sheltering groves. 
 
 And another — the valley of the Blue — so heav- 
 ily timbered near the water, along the greater 
 part of its length, that the stream is almost com- 
 pletely hidden when viewed from the upland at 
 the valley's rim. At Crete, Beatrice, and in the 
 
 143 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 vicinity of Wymore, there are many spots with 
 such charms that hosts of admirers could be de- 
 pended on for testimony if necessary. 
 
 The m.ain hindrance to pubHcity for prairie 
 scenes, is inability of the camera to reproduce 
 delicate detail which makes the chief charm of a 
 view in our valleys, or across the level uplands. 
 Many amateur photographers, and some profes- 
 sionals, have tried — and then sighed; far when 
 the camera attempts distance on the prairie, the 
 result looks like solitude and desolation. 
 
 It can make a bird's-eye view of our fertile and 
 beautiful Blue valley, look about as inspiring as 
 an Arizona desert. Some worthless hillside farm 
 in New England, which would not raise turnips, 
 looks like a Garden of Eden — compared to a high 
 priced prairie farm, when photographs of each 
 are put on exhibition together. 
 
 144 
 
X 
 
 OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 Readers may criticise from time to time, lack 
 of systematic arrangement in these chapters; but 
 just think it over, and ask yourself this question: 
 Do my recollections of a long gone past, come in 
 an orderly procession, when I sit down for an 
 evening of quiet seclusion, and happen to be re- 
 minded by something or other of youthful days ? 
 Am I not lead here and there by suggestions, in 
 ways for which I am not responsible ? 
 
 Things are getting worse right along, and the 
 reader must peruse this chapter at his or her own 
 risk. For now, at this thought of old days in a 
 prairie town, we feel that the kerosene lamp is 
 going to take us back to its own — where it ruled 
 supreme. They have electric lights and gasoline 
 mantle lamps there at present, but in the days 
 of which we write, kerosene was an essential to 
 social life of the community. 
 
 145 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 We will consider the coming of the railroad 
 to be the dividing line between frontier life and 
 real community settlement, free from dangers 
 known to the generation now gone to rest. The 
 prairie of fifty years ago had a share of loneliness 
 and privation, but there was little of the physi- 
 cal danger known to those who had comie a few 
 years before. All difficulties with the noble red 
 men in our territory had been settled, and he 
 was only a tradition to us. If we found a few 
 arrow heads now and then, they seemed to the 
 youngsters but relics of a prehistoric race. Such 
 was our conception of the dozen years or so, that 
 had elapsed since the troublesome Indian had 
 been driven out of Kansas and the similar terri- 
 tories adjoining. 
 
 To those raised in the old states, where the 
 establishment of new towns has long been a lost 
 art, the extension of a line of railroad through 
 an unsettled territory was an interesting process. 
 Not even an old time crossroads store with a 
 church nearby, could the railroad company take 
 for a nucleus of a new town. Such things gave 
 
 146 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 them no concern. They never swerved their 
 line an inch from the path of least resistance as 
 marked out by the engineers and surveyors. It 
 was the great future which was always kept in 
 view; and even to this day they straighten lines 
 and leave small towns stranded high and dry, 
 figuratively speaking. 
 
 So when the row of pine stakes was driven 
 for many miles over the prairie, and the town- 
 sites laid out with an average distance of eight 
 miles between, the settlers knew just how the 
 future stood in the matter of railway transporta- 
 tion, and how far they were going to be from 
 town — an important thing. 
 
 A description of one of these towns — filled in 
 with such regularity between the county seats — 
 would picture all of them. The railroad com- 
 pany established a sidetrack, yards and shute for 
 loading livestock, and the standard pattern of 
 little red depot, designed by some master archi- 
 tect about 1865, and carefully adhered to for over 
 forty years. They also issued orders that all grain 
 elevators to be erected along the line match that 
 
 147 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 depot in color. Their duty to the public in the 
 new villages ended with this, and they were par- 
 ticular in keeping within the contract's terms. 
 The railroad people were aware that whatever 
 benefit might come to them from the develop- 
 m^ent of the country within the territory of the 
 line, would be theirs without further effort. 
 Thus they were named "Soulless corporations," 
 although only following the way of human nature 
 in independent positions. 
 
 Private enterprise quickly built a general store, 
 in which was housed the local representative of 
 the government — the postmaster — who distribut- 
 ed the cheese and sugar as well as the mail. All 
 too soon another general store arrived, and per- 
 haps another. Thereby the needs of the none 
 too populous community was supplied by several 
 establishments, all scratching to make a living. 
 
 One concern by receiving all the business, thus 
 enabling it to carry a better and more extended 
 line, would have served the purpose better; but 
 the curious ways of human nature prevented it. 
 Growth and prosperity of the village could only 
 
 148 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 be judged by the filling of vacant lots along that 
 main street — just as a city a thousand times larger 
 measures its prosperity today. 
 
 In the beginning, the dozen or two of frame 
 buildings near the red depot were shadeless in 
 summer sun, and unsheltered from winter storm. 
 Today, these towns half hidden in trees shading 
 streets with modern homes, are a sharp remind- 
 er of time's swift flight. While there might be 
 a long tale to tell of times during the growth of 
 our state's small towns, we pass up on everything 
 of formal and historical nature. 
 
 Whimsical memories of odds and ends come, 
 and shall be put on record. In some way, men- 
 tion of shadeless condition in summer, has been 
 a reminder of the sun's darkening effect on the 
 human skin — especially that of lads just begin- 
 ning to cast admiring glances at a sex alleged to 
 be more deadly than the male. 
 
 Sunburn was the country boy's cross. Though 
 he did not have to bear it alone, little comfort 
 came to him from knowing that his companions 
 had also the disgrace of dark tanned hands and 
 
 149 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 faces during the long season from early planting 
 to final harvest. Winter brought a bleaching 
 process of its own, so by Christmas the rural 
 beau could attend social festivities and have no 
 handicap against the young drug clerk who never 
 went out in the summer sun. Yes, winter was 
 certainly a friend to the country bey, for it put 
 him in trim to be an equal competitor for the 
 hearts of the fair sex, and gave ease and poise 
 at parties or other social functions. 
 
 An African traveler might return from his 
 conquest of discovery in the burning tropic sun, 
 and be a hero with a face like a bronze doorknob. 
 But there was no heralding brass band to wel- 
 come the prairie lad, when he went to town 
 with bronzed face acquired in the furrow behind 
 the plow. Thus each spring the strong south 
 winds left him resigned to his fate for the season. 
 Some may read and smile, thinking this an idle 
 pleasantry; but I shall put. Sunburn, down as 
 reason number twenty-three, in an inspiring tale 
 entitled, " Why boys left the farm." Times have 
 changed some, however; and had there been a 
 
 150 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 prophet at hand to tell of present day city youths 
 motoring bareheaded across the country to get 
 tanned, that tide of young country blood rolling 
 cityward, might have been checked. 
 
 The art of wearing Sunday clothes was one 
 that required practice and a cool head, if the 
 wearer hoped to appear at ease or give the im- 
 pression that it was an every day matter with 
 him. Since sunburn at that time was so unstyl- 
 ish, and rural folks rather looked down on them- 
 selves^ a coat of tan brought self consciousness 
 when dressing-up time came. 
 
 After a man toiled all week clad only in a 
 colored shirt, overalls and primitive shoes, tran- 
 sition to a suit of store clothes was in some degree 
 abrupt and awkward to the senses. In summer, 
 that coat ! Oh my ! Words can never tell of 
 the suffering it caused. Near to nature all week 
 as far as clothes were concerned, it was like be- 
 ing put in a Turkish bath to put on a coat in the 
 good old summer time. Light weight suits for 
 summer were almost unknown — in the country, 
 at least. Besides it would have been extravagant 
 
 151 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 to own two Sunday outfits at once. To adapt 
 the " good " suit for hot days, was a simple pro- 
 cess — just take off the coat, if you got too warm, 
 and wanted to be in style. 
 
 We of the farm enjoyed the independent priv- 
 ilege of wearing our clothes until they bore all 
 the earmarks of personal friends, without thought 
 as to what sort of scarecrow spectacle we might 
 make before the world. The world though, was 
 not there to see. That was the secret of our 
 boasted independence. Therefore a point never 
 came in the life of a suit of clothes, when it 
 was necessary to decide whether or not it was 
 too shabby or out of style for further use. 
 
 Of course there came a time to decide on its 
 fitness for Sunday wear; but no sorrow came if 
 the decision was a negative one. It was then 
 really the beginning of a closer and more intimate 
 friendship. For with infrequent opportunity to 
 go on dress parade, we could not begin to feel 
 true fellowship with our clothes until we took 
 them for second best. And when the period of 
 second best had passed — just where the slave of 
 
 152 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 the city must let his suit go, to the tramp or rag- 
 man — our time for ripened affection began. 
 
 Putting them on for every day wear on the 
 farm, gave a feeling of companionship like that 
 with one who had been with us on a long jour- 
 ney, having many ups and downs. The trousers 
 and vest were woven into rag carpet, long before 
 the coat was finally hung on a nail in some shed 
 or storeroom, as a reserve to wear on hog-killing 
 day, which required special costume. 
 
 Though sadly worn, and disfigured almost be- 
 yond recognition, it still held a general resem- 
 blance to its old-time self; and the pangs of grief 
 were lessened, for we yet had our old friend in 
 a way — like the Egyptians with their mummies 
 of the dead. 
 
 It is no joke to say that one had to have some 
 excuse for dressing up, those days. When the 
 night of the big doings proved to be a rainy one, 
 sadness came to many hearts. There might not 
 be another chance for a week or so to wear that 
 new suit or dress. Is it cause for wonder, that 
 at bedtime on Sunday evening when nothing was 
 
 153 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 on hand for the week, that some of the young 
 gave a Httle sigh as they laid away their best 
 clothes. For the heart of youth is the same, 
 whether in city or country. 
 
 Another impatient reader exclaims,- "This 
 guy told us he would write about old days in a 
 prairie town. He stayed in town about five 
 minutes, and then went to the country. Is he 
 ever coming back ? " 
 
 There is a very plausible excuse for this seem- 
 ingly erratic conduct. We did not get to town 
 so often then. Antedating the mechanical age, 
 we did not have something breaking down every 
 day; thus causing a trip into the village or county 
 seat for repairs. Life was simple, and we might, 
 during busy times, only see " town " once a week. 
 But we will go tonight — in memory — for there 
 is something to "attend." 
 
 It is now well along in the third week of the 
 meeting. One of the deacons, acting as sexton, 
 is lighting the kerosene lamps. The stoves have 
 been showing redness for an hour. But not un- 
 til after the " first bell," will the deacon turn the 
 
 154 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 lamps to anywhere near a full height of flame. 
 For if the service should happen to be rather 
 long drawn, it would be an awkward thing to 
 have the oil run low before the finish. 
 
 There is no doubt of a full house tonight. The 
 last corn husking has just been finished, and the 
 strain of early rising is relieved for the winter. 
 Therefore the rural population is free for what- 
 ever social or public gatherings are now coming 
 to hand. The roads are in fine condition, and 
 a full moon adorns the prairie heavens. 
 
 For miles around, the wagons, both lumber 
 and spring, will come rattling along and before 
 the second bell rings, hitching posts around the 
 church lots will be crowded with teams; and an 
 audience — a mingling of those in the little town 
 and their country neighbors — will be ready to 
 join in a preliminary series of songs, selected 
 from Pentecostal Number Two. 
 
 Down through the years tonight, comes the 
 refrain of those old songs. That there were jar- 
 ring notes in the chorus at times, or that main 
 strength and good lungs counted for more than 
 
 155 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 expression, will be freely admitted. But it was 
 a whole-hearted performance, and its earnestness 
 is unquestioned. And it was the unison of a 
 neighborhood joining together in the lifting of 
 voices, at a common center of public gathering 
 — a thing the city knows nothing about. There 
 was no one under the roof that night, who did 
 not know, by sight at least, every other person 
 in the building. If a stranger or two happened 
 to be there, his or her identity was soon learned, 
 and main characteristics noted. 
 
 Even after confessing that the salvation of souls 
 was relegated to a time of conveniene, it still re- 
 mains a sort of psychical fact, that the average 
 person is more susceptible to religious influences 
 in cold weather than in warm. So the winter 
 revival on the prairie, was in line with good 
 practice, after all. 
 
 As much as anything else, the meeting fur- 
 nished social recreation to old and young. To 
 the greater number of them, it also allowed op- 
 portunity for getting out of every day clothes, 
 and seeing each other in something else besides 
 
 156 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 the sombre garb of working harness, which had 
 but small variety in style. 
 
 With two or three ol the deacons, this dress- 
 ing up ended in a compromise rather abrupt to 
 the eye. Never was there a less unfinished work 
 of art, than a man rearing his face above the stiff 
 and collarless bosom of the old-fashioned white 
 shirt. Even with a collar, harmony was far from 
 being complete. There must be a necktie of some 
 sort to break the monotony of this white expanse. 
 Those deacons were goodly men, and nothing 
 but pleasant thoughts of them and their doings 
 comes to mind. But that idea of being dressed 
 up, when the white shirt bosom stretched un- 
 trimmed and undraped from ear to ear ! 
 
 A shudder comes, as an awful comparison in- 
 trudes itself. Neighbor X had a calf lot, with 
 the boards dazzlingly whitewashed. When a pic- 
 ture comes to mind now, of the calves looking 
 over that white fence, it is impossible to keep 
 from seeing the deacons at the sam.e time, wear- 
 ing their collarless white shirts. And it is not 
 a fair comparison — to the calves. 
 
 157 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 There was, however, a scale of standards by 
 which the apparel could be regulated for week 
 days, when attending such gatherings. It was 
 hardly expected that the very best clothes would 
 be worn. A man might even wear one of the 
 old fashioned colored shirts to the service, if 
 properly groom.ed in other respects, and conduct- 
 ing himself with reserve and propriety. Had he 
 appeared clad in a modern colored shirt, there 
 is no doubt that he would have been arrested 
 for disturbing the meeting. 
 
 The compromises with approved costume, is 
 a reminder of another; and we must leave the 
 service long enough to tell of it. 
 
 Telling time by the sun, was a practice which 
 developed into an art. With the checker board 
 system of farm division at section lines, the car- 
 dinal points of the compass were at hand on all 
 sides to assist. That is — on days when the sun 
 shone. On cloudy days, the solar method was 
 lame. It was general custom for a young man 
 to get a watch about the same time the law al- 
 lowed him to cast his first vote. Not as a re- 
 
 158 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 ward for voting, but, in popular opinion of the 
 time, a watch before the age of twenty-one was 
 a thing which might lead the youth into worldly 
 ways. It should come only with the dignity of 
 mature years. " Coming of age," in these days, 
 was an event of more importance to the average 
 boy, than it is now, since he was not raised to 
 be his own boss and tell the unfortunate parents 
 where to get off at, from the day long pants were 
 first draped on his form. 
 
 But few, even of the more elderly residents in 
 the country homes, carried their watches every 
 day. They looked at the kitchen clock in the 
 morning, again at noon, and yet again at bed- 
 time. There was no whistle compelling them to 
 be on time to the minute, no car to catch. They 
 were absorbed in their own affair on their own 
 private estates. What mattered the hour or the 
 minute, so long as Sunday was not passed by 
 mistake. And, as for wearing the watches — 
 the act should be classed in the ornamental list. 
 For as often as not, the time-piece was not wound 
 up. It was simply a part of the costume when 
 
 159 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 the owner was dressed in Sunday clothes; or rath- 
 er the chain was. You remember what a show 
 those chains used to make. 
 
 Some always wound and set their watches on 
 Sundays and holidays; but for just a visit to a 
 neighbor's, it might be neglected as mere detail. 
 If the neglect led to embarrassing results, it was 
 the luck which comes from taking chances. The 
 following illustrates this graphically, and should 
 be a warning to the young. 
 
 Three neighbors whom we will call. A, B, and 
 C, went to take dinner with a fourth, D. They 
 were slick and span — and also uncomfortable — 
 in their store clothes. D's wife thought the fam- 
 ily clock was not indicating properly, and this 
 seemed to be a good chance to correct it. 
 
 Remember that in those days, she could not 
 call "central," and get the very latest Western 
 Union time. So she stepped into the parlor 
 where A, B and C, were waiting for whatever 
 might happen next, and asked A, who sat near- 
 est her, " What time is it ? " He replied, with 
 a shade of embarrassed regret on his countenance: 
 
 160 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 " My watch is not wound up." Key wind, you 
 know. She then turned to B, w^hose look of 
 embarrassment came ahead of her question — the 
 same one put to A. He said, " My watch is 
 not running either." 
 
 She appealed to C, the last hope. He was 
 resourceful, and also had an advantage over the 
 others. Sitting by a south window, and know- 
 ing the habits of his companions, he had antic- 
 ipated their failure and taken observation of the 
 sun's position. When the question came to him, 
 he calmly produced his watch, gave it an uncon- 
 cerned glance and replied carelessly, "Twenty 
 minutes past eleven." 
 
 Our section of the state expanded with a just 
 pride, as the Burlington pushed slowly westward 
 with York for its temporary terminal. When 
 it finally reached Grand Island, thus making 
 direct connection with the Union Pacific, there 
 seemed to be small necessity for a further exten- 
 sion of the " B © M." How many little commu- 
 nities were developing at the same time along 
 the new line, with the same hopes and ambitions, 
 
 161 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAlvIP 
 
 the same trials and disappointments. Speaking of 
 trials, we will be specific. 
 
 We are thinking now of the Micawbers in the 
 country towns, who, with a vigilance everlasting 
 and eternal, waited patiently day after day and 
 year after year for something to "turn up." On 
 benches or chairs in front of stores, livery stable 
 or blacksmith shop, they commanded all points 
 of view strategically. 
 
 The Micawber comparison is an ill-fitting one, 
 however, and an apology is due the original wor- 
 thy. For in the first place, the small town men 
 of leisure were not waiting for anything of pe- 
 cuniary advantage to come their way. Then the 
 Dickens creation is not on record as a gossip. 
 After this insinuation, it might be well to come 
 out in the open with the bare accusation that the 
 patient watchers on the village street were there 
 to catch stray bits of local scandal, and to make 
 observations which would enable them to get a 
 closer insight into other people's private affairs. 
 The one among them who could keep the best 
 informed on juicy morsels, was common law 
 
 162 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 king of the vulture-like assembly. It amounted 
 almost to a profession. With a head full of oth- 
 er people's business or embarrassing trials, and 
 an eye ever roving for more, the ruler of the gos- 
 sips with those close to the throne, moved in a 
 lofty disdain among others who attended humbly 
 to their own business. 
 
 There is no reason to suppose that our prairie 
 town folks were more inclined to be curious than 
 other people would be under the same circum- 
 stances; because it is the nature of small towns 
 to know more of the individual inhabitant's bus- 
 iness and family affairs. But a half dozen idlers 
 of the ferret-eyed type — such as existed in the 
 days of the livery stable forum — can cause pain 
 and annoyance to the respectable citizens, who 
 would live in peace and harmony. 
 
 To discover the source of a stream, we follow 
 it — not toward the mouth, but up against the 
 current to where it becomes only a tiny rivulet. 
 Using the same principle, we come to the source 
 of snobbery and social pretension. The end of 
 our search would find us in a small village in 
 
 163 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 most any part of the United States. It might 
 not be able to boast of more than two hundred 
 inhabitants but in the weekly paper will be an 
 item something like the following :- 
 
 "Mrs. X entertained a small but select party 
 Friday afternoon. A dainty two course luncheon 
 was served, and all report a fine time." 
 
 "Select." There is the secret of the whole 
 matter; and we did not discover it in New York 
 or Boston. It proves beyond a doubt, that the 
 so called democratic American begins at the ear- 
 liest possible moment to put himself above the 
 common herd, by the simple process of being 
 "very select." 
 
 In the little town, when the ''locals" were read, 
 those who did not appear in the "select" list, 
 were thus taught to know their proper places. 
 And in the same town, the children had their 
 methods of selection, seeming almost instinctive 
 — inherited from the parents, probably. When 
 they planned parties, and made up lists of those 
 to be invited, some of them — not all thank good- 
 ness — wished to leave out a few for the reason 
 
 164 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 that they were not " good enough." Many a little 
 heart, with a sob and a tear, thus learned early 
 in life what it meant to be, "select." 
 
 The neighbor who never brought it back — 
 yes, he lived in our community. What he bor- 
 rowed is forgotten now; but if it wasn't one thing 
 it was something else, or yet another article for 
 some other purpose. It might be a hayrack, or 
 a post-hole digger; a harrow or the fanning mill; 
 a mowing machine or the sausage grinder, horse 
 collar or scoop shovel. 
 
 Its of no mom.ent what the article was. The 
 fact that a fellow always had to go after his own 
 property when he wanted to use it, caused many 
 a sigh of resignation. This appreciative neigh- 
 bor had the drop on his victim, since there was 
 no telephone. One could not call him up and 
 ask for a return of the plunder. There was no 
 telling what he would ask for next time, thus 
 giving a chance to hide it when he was seen 
 coming down the road. 
 
 Several miles away, lived another family that 
 was surely some shiftless. Its members were 
 
 165 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAlvIP 
 
 surely some shiftless. They were noted for bor- 
 rowing capacity. Somebody gave them a runty 
 pig, and a member of the household promptly 
 came over to neighbor Jones, asking if they might 
 borrow a pig trough. Jones was sarcastic. He 
 had loaned them all that he felt disposed to spare, 
 with such low percentage of returns. Calculat- 
 ing it would be a shaft which would wither the 
 applicant, he answered thus, — "Where did you 
 borrow the pen ?" " We borrowed the pen over 
 to Smith's," came the prompt and smiling reply. 
 Jones wilted. There was nothing to do but hand 
 over the trough. They had borrowed one of 
 those small portable pens which could be slid a- 
 long the grass at will, allowing brother pig fresh 
 rooting territory any time he began to squeal for 
 greater opportunities. 
 
 The pig trough story ought to be genuine. It 
 was told in our Nebraska town for fact, many 
 years ago. Since then, it has been circulated 
 here in southern Indiana, from an entirely dif- 
 ferent source. With so much telling, it ought 
 really to have happened somewhere. 
 
 166 
 
OLD DAYS IN A PRAIRIE TOWN 
 
 One brief chapter would barely suffice to give 
 a synopsis of old days in a prairie town. Life 
 there is not so simple as the funny paragraphers 
 would have us believe. In boyhood days, when 
 returning from the county seat, we passed thru 
 the main street of our little village. It looked 
 rather tame after so much excitement around the 
 courthouse spuare. 
 
 Today, these towns between the county capi- 
 tals, enjoy a social life which the uninitiated can- 
 not understand. Some folks insist on judging 
 such places by loungers whom they see on the 
 depot platform, watching the trains pass. An 
 experience covering a number of years in cities, 
 has convinced the writer that the " Rube" class 
 is just as much in evidence there, as in humbler 
 places. Expressed in a different form, but just 
 as unmistakable as the rural brand. 
 
 167 
 
XI 
 
 SHEAVES OF WHEAT 
 
 Speaking paradoxically but practically, the first 
 tinge of green came twice in the life of a winter 
 wheat crop; and both events were watched with 
 interest, shading into anxiety. Slender tendrils 
 of fall green, marked progress of root growth 
 necessary to give the plant strength for the winter 
 hibernation. 
 
 A farmer's life certainly runs the full course 
 of hopes and disappointments. When watching 
 the wheat make the early fall start — under un- 
 favorable conditions, perhaps — then again in 
 spring, looking for signs of life — the tinge which 
 would tell whether or not the gripping frosts and 
 freezes had ended life for the little plants — the 
 thought came that a game of chance was being 
 played right before his eyes, and no hand of the 
 law would step in to stop it. 
 
 169 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 But if all was well so far, the faint green deep- 
 ened under the April sun, and from then on 
 until the shocks stood in the browning stubble, 
 the evolution of the crop was a thing most truly 
 wonderful and interesting. 
 
 First, the faint green tinge deepened into a 
 mat of such evenness, that it seemed like a car- 
 pet of velvet. A week or two more, and the 
 winds could chop the surface with little wavelets 
 like those on a pond of very shallow water. 
 
 Rapidly it mounted, a heavy dark mass, spark- 
 ling in the morning with heavy beads of dew. 
 Then the heading time — an unfolding like that 
 of the butterfly from the chrysalis. When the 
 newly headed field lay swelling in the breeze 
 with gentle undulations like a harbor sea, inde- 
 scribable shades of color dissolved over it in the 
 days which followed. 
 
 Under changing lights of the June skies, came 
 everything possible in the line of green. How 
 carefully the waving mass was studied to detect 
 the first sign of yellow — the beginning of the 
 harvest ripening. Just when the ripening began, 
 
 170 
 
SHEAVES OF WHEAT 
 
 and what stage the process was in after it did 
 begin, was always a problem to figure out. For 
 these skies of June days, also played pranks with 
 tints of yellow now mingling in the green. 
 
 Viewed from the proper angJe in bright sun- 
 light, ripening seemed to be advancing rapidly; 
 and the farmer frantically prepared for the cutting 
 which appeared to be only a few days away. 
 But if a cloudy and rainy day came just then, he 
 scratched his head while pondering as to where 
 that ripened look had gone. 
 
 With ripening of the heads, came endless 
 shelling out in the hand of plump ones, to make 
 estimate of the yield. How many bushels were 
 wasted in that way each year, would be hard to 
 determine. It was one of the most natural im- 
 pulses in human nature. 
 
 As the crop neared maturity, study of the heav- 
 ens was not neglected. Whether it be on the blue 
 expanse of ocean, or the miles of green prairie, 
 this becomes an instinctive habit. We studied 
 the sky as did the sailor, because it was practic- 
 ally our master. Its showers and its storms, made 
 
 171 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 our wealth and our poverty. Since the sheep 
 passes as an example of weakness and defense- 
 lessness in the animal kingdorr, a field of ripen- 
 ed wheat might be similarly compared in the 
 vegetable world. 
 
 When the yellowing heads shone in the after- 
 noon sun, the blue of the sky harmonized per- 
 fectly along the horizon and high above it. But 
 when the horizon began to darken, the increas- 
 ing contrast brought an instinctive note of warn- 
 ing to the farmer, who had watched evolution 
 of the crop thru the months. 
 
 As the darkening strip mounted higher, and a 
 wicked looking line of clouds forms low in the 
 distance, all figuring as to probable yield was 
 laid aside. A flash of lightning, and a distant 
 roll of thunder. A dulling of the sun, as the 
 edge of the deep blue-gray spreads. 
 
 In this softened light, the ripened wheat stands 
 with startling contrast against the solid blue- 
 black mass below that yellow-tinged line of clouds 
 heading the storm. With the death-like stillness 
 which comes just before the swirling clouds get 
 
 172 
 
SHEAVES OF WHEAT 
 
 their blasts into play, thought came that the help- 
 less field of grain was like the lamb awaiting the 
 pleasure of the lion. 
 
 But why dwell on calamity and desolation. 
 Let us say, that for this time, the storm proved 
 to be only a bluster. And the sunset, that night, 
 gave to the unharm.ed wheat fields a glow of col- 
 or passing all description. Far in the southeast 
 where the afternoon s unpleasantness had disap- 
 peared, was heaped a pile of fleecy white clouds. 
 Fro2Ti the high eminence of a barn roof, the fields 
 and pastures were fair to see. 
 
 The wheat, ready for the binder, when the 
 morning sun takes away the heavy dew. The 
 deep green of the corn, over which stray tassels 
 were already shooting up here and there. The 
 broad pools of water lying in the basins, and 
 shining like silver in the twilight. The air — 
 was home-made mountain ozone. 
 
 As the twilight deepened, the fleecy cloud- 
 balls were yet visible, and reflected in a faint 
 glow the highlights of the sunset. Often they 
 would flare up with soft light like fire-flies. This 
 
 173 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 proved there was lightening below them, but 
 no sound came. It w^as so silent in their direc- 
 tion, that it was easy to i'xagine them a part of 
 another world, or a picture painted on the dis- 
 tant sky. With the feeling of relief at escape 
 from the storm, and the comfort of the shower 
 in the way of fresh, cool air, there was peace 
 in the farmer's heart that night. Tomorrow 
 would begin the harvest. The crickets had come 
 to be among those present, and their chirping 
 lulled the weary to rest. Troubles faded away, 
 as the distant evening clouds of the storm had 
 faded into the darkness. 
 
 So dawned the morning of the first day of the 
 cutting. To get a start, was to be half done. 
 There was once a farmer who prayed for a wet 
 harvest time; and they put him in the lunatic 
 asylum. It was a plain case. There was noth- 
 ing else to do. All who have served apprentice- 
 ship in the fields, will understand. 
 
 But with all eagerness to get into the swing 
 of it, and put the crop out of harm's way, few 
 there are who can truthfully say that they fairly 
 
 174 
 
SHEAVES OF WHEAT 
 
 itched to follow the binder, and take the job of 
 shocking as it came, better or worse. 
 
 There were many tiz^es on the farm, when 
 one realized that a reserve of endurance like that 
 of the prize fighter, was necessary to keep a fel- 
 low on his pins from morning till noon, or noon 
 till night. But in the wilting heat of a harvest 
 afternoon, as he looks en the long rows of bun- 
 dles ahead, waiting for the shccker, this realiza- 
 tion is vividly clear and strong. 
 
 Surely here is where bread is earned by sweat 
 of the brow. With sweat, comes thirst. He 
 who has never shocked, might as well pass these 
 lines by. Appreciation can com.e only from 
 experience in this case. 
 
 At the end of the field a quarter of a mile away, 
 is a choice morsel — a large jug of water wrapped 
 in a wet burlap sack, and stowed in a shock se- 
 cure from the sun s blistering rays. Possibly 
 thirst was aggravated by the sight of the rows 
 of bundles that must be set up in shocks before 
 the jug is reached. What an endless task it 
 seems, and how the sweat does run into the eyes, 
 
 175 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 leaving the mind in no condition to while away 
 the time by bringing up idle memories, or dreams 
 for the future. The tired body keeps all the 
 senses alert to its own needs. But shock by shock, 
 the goal is approached, until only a half dozen 
 remain ahead. 
 
 " Now why," the one who never shocked may 
 exclaim, "didn t you go on and get a drink, and 
 then come back to finish ? " 
 
 Beloved but ignorant one, "listen," as these 
 natives of the Ohio valley say so charmingly. In 
 dire cases of thirst, this was done as you suggest. 
 But it was a matter of pride, a time-worn custom, 
 an unwritten law of the fields, or a combination 
 of all these, which spurred one to the task and 
 compelled going just so far between drinks. 
 
 When, with palpitating heart, labored breath- 
 ing and trembling hands, there came the thought 
 of how a great pleasure can com.e from a simple 
 thing, when it is really needed. And that bliss- 
 ful five minutes rest in the shade of a shock — 
 words cannot describe it. If all of life could be 
 a rest like that— ! ! ! ! 
 
 176 
 
SHEAVES OF WHEAT 
 
 And once there was a particularly trying after- 
 noon. The bundles were green and very heavy, 
 while the binder had bv?en "missing," to an ag- 
 gravating extent. The sky was clear, and the 
 sun was at his best. Far beyond the western 
 horizon, a long line of low-lying clouds, indistinct 
 and hazy, made a startling illusion of mountain 
 peaks. So perfect was it, that it seemed hard to 
 believe it a cloud picture only. 
 
 There was the dark saw-tcoth line against the 
 sky, with the haze of many miles to soften and 
 allure with its silence and mystery. It looked for 
 all the world like that first glimipse a hundred 
 miles east of Denver, where thousands watch for 
 their first sight of the Rockies. 
 
 But that afternoon in the wheat field, when 
 no cloud came to shield from the sun s glare, the 
 phantom range in the west aided by the harvest 
 thirst, brought visions of cool, shaded canons, 
 pine-scented and restful for all the cares of life. 
 And the clear, cold stream that came boiling 
 over its stony bed; the little spring which sent 
 just enough cold water down the broad face of 
 
 . 177 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 a granite wall, to keep it moist, and dark in col- 
 or. All the details came in that picture, until — 
 why, this is the last shock, and the jug is at hand, 
 to soothe, rest and restore. 
 
 Stacking time proved once again, that in union 
 there is strength. For with each little stacker 
 working faithfully in his own field, the entire 
 prairie landscape was quickly dotted with many 
 picturesque "settings." 
 
 At the stackyard, signs of three crops told of 
 a continuous performance in the raising of wheat. 
 The old straw piles of last year's crop — the new 
 stacks just built, and the plowing for the sowing 
 soon to come. 
 
 In September days, the shelled grains around 
 the stacks had grown into a mat. Here, in the 
 shade, with the scent of new straw and ripening 
 corn — well, what's the use. It is a poet's job, 
 therefore we pass. 
 
 178 
 
"As the twilight deepened, the fleecy 
 cloud'balls were yet visible, and reflected 
 in a faint glow the fading highlights of 
 the sunset." 
 
 -page 173 
 
XII 
 
 WINDY DAYS AND CALM 
 
 In the memory of those who knew the prairie 
 of Nebraska and Kansas, the most unforgetable 
 recollections relate to the wind. With an unob- 
 structed sweep over the level stretches, it held 
 high carnival. There was no choice of seasons; 
 any old time would do. The windy periods 
 might vary from year to year, but there was no 
 month which could not muster fully matured, 
 bellowing blasts, lasting from one day to a week, 
 holding like the magnetic needle to one point of 
 the compass with almost unvarying velocity day 
 and night, and hot or cold according to the sea- 
 son at hand. 
 
 But in all of it there was nothing which could 
 be catalogued or scheduled, beyond the fact that 
 the south wind was ordinarily a summer variety, 
 and the north wind thrived best in winter. It 
 was all so erratic, that, had ships sailed our 
 
 179 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LA^IP 
 
 prairie seas, the sailing dates would have been 
 very irregular. We had a few signs, however, 
 that were looked to more or less with the bitter 
 knowledge gained by experience, that all signs 
 might fail in dry weather, as they did elsewhere. 
 Thus, if after several successive days of lusty, 
 warm south wind in spring or summer, we did 
 not see a darkening of the sky in the north and 
 west as the breeze began to die down, we knew 
 one of our best signs of rain had failed. If the 
 wind swung to the west before it began to wane, 
 there was little hope. If it veered to the south- 
 east or on beyond, it was no tim.e to cut hay. 
 After a deathly calm of a day or two, we knew^ 
 it would make up for lost tim.e. 
 
 In summer, when drouth threatened, there 
 was no pleasure in noting the gradual rising of a 
 south wind as the day advanced. In winter, 
 nobody pined for north wind, unless it was the 
 coal dealer. We had no iceman to worry about 
 the hot days. It was a land of extremes, and 
 the winds were responsible for a full share of it, 
 including changefulness of the skies. 
 
 180 
 
WINDY DAYS AND CALM 
 
 And calm days? Well, rather. That dead 
 stillness of August, when the rush of shock 
 threshing was on. Not a leaf of tree or corn 
 stirred. Smoke columns rising straight up here 
 and there, showed where "crews" were clearing 
 the fields. The golden piles of straw, loomed 
 like mountains in miniature. The hum of the 
 threshing machine came faintly. 
 
 Windmills with wide open wheels dotted the 
 landscape, ready for any fitful breeze of the mo- 
 ment, to add a little water in the depleted tanks 
 where the cattle stood fighting flies. And those 
 engines were thirsty things — coughing and pant- 
 ing as they strove to keep up the speed of the 
 separators, eating the sheaves of wheat. What 
 a task it was to keep them supplied with water 
 during a "still spell," and how they did toot for 
 the water wagon ! 
 
 Far over toward the horizon, a windmill wheel 
 begins to turn briskly. We knew a breeze was 
 coming. Those wheels were our sentries, for 
 when unobstructed by trees, they gave the rela- 
 tive velocity of the fitful winds. 
 
 181 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 That terrible contrast of the seasons. Again the 
 dead cahn on the prairie. But now, it is that of 
 a cold and clear winter night. A foot of snow 
 lies over fields and pastures. The new moon, 
 now nearly down to the horizon, gives enough 
 light to show buildings and trees as dark spots 
 against the white, for long distances. The small 
 groups of trees, seem so outclassed in the broad 
 nocturnal view of snow. It is a safe bet that they 
 are at the north and west of the houses close by, 
 for a "windbreak," in time of storm. 
 
 There is no fury tonight, unless it be called a 
 fury of biting frost. The stillness is Arctic like. 
 If it lasts until the sun can glaze the snow with 
 a slight crust, something very disagreeable may 
 be averted. A high wind just now would carry 
 the dry snow in blinding clouds, drifting it many 
 feet deep, and leaving whole acres bare. In 
 the homes scattered far apart over the prairie, 
 kerosene lamps are sending out their gleams. 
 Those spending the evening by the fire inside, 
 are apprehensive. They could rest easier tonight 
 if they knew tomorrow's sun would shine un- 
 
 182 
 
WINDY DAYS AND CALM 
 
 clouded, and pack the fluffy crystals. A touch 
 of "January thaw,'' would be welcome. 
 
 Since this is a free country, all who wish may 
 sound praises to the beautiful snow. But an ex- 
 tended observation proves that the ones who 
 shout the loudest, "See the beautiful snow !", 
 are recruited from a class that has but small oc- 
 casion to get out in it. In a land where no howl- 
 ing winds come to whirl and drift, one might 
 look with more leniency on these gushing ones. 
 But on this prairie, where the strong winds are 
 adapted equally well to either hot or cold air — 
 [joke,] admirers of cold and clamm-y snow ought 
 to be carefully watched by the sanity board, for 
 symptoms of a violent stage. 
 
 A foot of this flaky white substance, lying 
 unpacked and dry, ready to fly into clouds when 
 driven by the north wind, is a very dangerous 
 and disagreeable thing. If anyone thinks of snow 
 on the western ranges as only a thing of beauty, 
 he must be heedless of the misery and suffering 
 it causes to the helpless live stock, unprotected 
 from storm, or the poor of the human race, who 
 
 183 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 are almost as helpless as the cattle and sheep at 
 times. Let us compromise by calling snow a 
 necessary evil, bringing moisture and protection 
 to soil and wheat. Let admiration for this Arctic 
 substance, be centered on the snow-capped peaks 
 — symbols of uninhabitable places. 
 
 Extending across the snow-covered prairie from 
 horizon to horizon, on a grade but little above 
 the level of the fields, lines of steel rails reach 
 for miles without a curve. Although no breath 
 of air seem.s to stir, a musical hum comes from 
 the line of wires on telegraph poles along the 
 right of way. Drawn tight by contraction of 
 cold, the varied tones are often clearest on nights 
 like this. Over the landscape lying under the 
 segment of moon, are other lines of poles extend- 
 ing in various directions, and their wires are 
 also on the hum. 
 
 Who can properly tell, of what telephones 
 have meant, in those silent lands where neigh- 
 bors are few and far between. The low hum of 
 the wires leading into the house, is a comforting 
 note to those around isolated firesides in winter, 
 
 184 
 
WINDY DAYS AND CALM 
 
 being a constant and comforting reminder of the 
 close touch they now have with friends miles 
 away thru the gripping cold. 
 
 But the humming of these telegraph wires ! 
 Sometimes it can be about the most mournful 
 note on earth. Did you ever wait at a country 
 railroad station, for an overdue train ? That 
 little stereotyped waiting room — counterpart of 
 a hundred more on the line — with a clock, which, 
 if it moved at all, seemed to go backward. You 
 read odds and ends, and studied maps on the 
 wall; but the senses are never normal in a wait- 
 ing room, so you finally entertained yourself by 
 twirling your thumbs. 
 
 The telegraph wires came thru the wall above 
 the operators table, and an almost constant chat- 
 ter was clicked off by the sounders. Occasionally 
 there would be a sudden silence of the instru- 
 ments, and loud humming of the wires, empha- 
 sized by the stillness inside, made a note more 
 mournful than pen can describe. For you was 
 far from home, and had no friends in the small 
 town. The semi-musical note, as it rose and 
 
 185 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 fell with the wind outside, brought up semi- 
 pleasant thoughts and refletions. You were much 
 interested in the reports which came over the 
 humming wires, telling of the progress of the be- 
 lated train. When at last the whistle came drift- 
 ing down the line, the eagerness with which you 
 gathered up your baggage was almost childlike. 
 Your happy, smiling face, beaming from the car 
 window as the train pulled out, was an inspira- 
 tion to the inspection committee of the village, 
 on duty along the depot wall. 
 
 Breezes, more or less boisterous, cam.e and 
 went, the seasons thru. This chapter would not 
 be fitting to its title, did it not move in erratic 
 gusts of words, after the manner of windy days 
 and calm. 
 
 A soft breeze makes audible the voices of grow- 
 ing things, in and around the fields. Strong 
 winds confuse and drown them in roaring blasts. 
 The gentle murmur of prairie grass on an autumn 
 day — have you forgotten it, old neighbor of many 
 years ago? The rustle of corn leaves, varying 
 according to the stage of growth. 
 
 186 
 
WINDY DAYS AND CALM 
 
 In the long ago, when cur new prairie homes 
 stood with so little to shade and shelter them, the 
 sound of wind whistling thru bare branches of 
 young cottonwoods, gave some measure of satis- 
 faction. It told of protection frcmi storm when 
 they grew larger. In spring, when the buds be- 
 gan to swell, a slightly different tone cam^e from 
 the branches; and som^e fine day, when a stiff 
 breeze was blowing from the south, there was a 
 deep muffled tone. The leaves were open, shin- 
 ing 'with a glittering tenderness. 
 
 Soon they were ready for the strenuous life 
 the summer winds would bring them, and to 
 take dry and wet days as they cam^e. There 
 would be times of deadly stillness, broken sud- 
 denly by the rush of blinding rainstorm from the 
 northwest, when the branches would bend low, 
 and sometimes break under the strain. Perhaps 
 there would be many days of hot south wind, 
 compelling the corn leaves to curl up tightly to 
 escape the heat. 
 
 It was then that shade of the rows of cotton- 
 woods, was appreciated by man and beast. To a 
 
 187 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 stranger riding thru the region, with no practi- 
 cal knowledge of what is seen from the window 
 of a Pullman, that which is said here might ap- 
 pear to be a trivial matter. But those who have 
 lived there — know. The prairies had their 
 beauty, like the open sea; but a sailor, no m.atter 
 how much he may love the water, yet longs for 
 a harbor to protect him from storm or break the 
 monotony of a long voyage. For similar reasons, 
 we longed for "timber." 
 
 Tonight, the kerosene lamp brings up little in 
 the way of hint for a continuation of windy days 
 and calm. Tired by the day's duties, the easy 
 chair seems to be the most paying investment 
 yet made, as far as dividend in solid comfort is 
 concerned. Recollections, hazy and indistinct, 
 without order or sequence, come and go. The 
 senses, both physical and mental, are off duty. 
 Even the melody of boat whistles, drifting over 
 the Ohio, creates no interest. 
 
 Thru an open window, a subtle something 
 calls the sense of smell back on the job. It proves 
 to be smoke from bonfires of the early spring 
 
 188 
 
WINDY DAYS AND CALM 
 
 yard rakings. The burning leaves and other 
 cast off vegetation of last year, combined with 
 the odor of swelling buds — what a combination 
 to awaken the memory. 
 
 All boyhood likes a bonfire, and it is possible 
 that early prairie day boys would work harder 
 in spring yard-cleaning time than usual, to get 
 the award of bonfire privileges. Since there 
 were no clearings of timber to make, and little 
 waste of any kind to burn outside the stove, bon- 
 fires were listed in the recreation column. 
 
 During the first few years, however, tim^es 
 came when boys suddenly lost interest in trash 
 burning. Volumes of smoke arose in a long line 
 beyond the horizon, toward which lay an almost 
 uninterrupted area of native wild grass. There 
 was excitement in all the households. If the wind 
 should become stronger, there would be grave 
 danger. This conflagration might leap all the 
 "fire-breaks," and narrow roads. The afternoon 
 wore away. After sunset, the approaching smoke 
 columns glowed with reflected light of the flames 
 yet out of sight. But soon the horizon line lay 
 
 189 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 dark and distinct against an everbrightening 
 space above. All hearts sank as tongues of flame 
 shot up all along the line. It was not a time to 
 go to bed and court sweet dreams. 
 
 But, just as it happens in all "thrillers," the 
 wind fell; and the flames dropped to a simmering 
 ribbon which died out as it burned to the dusty 
 track of road extending for miles across the path 
 of the fire. With a good wind, crossing that 
 frail barrier would have been but the work of 
 a moment. 
 
 As the last of the line of flame reached the 
 road, illumination of the sky faded away; and a 
 darkness which meant happiness to many house- 
 holds, settled over the plain. For this year, at 
 least, danger of prairie fire is over. 
 
 How strange it was to go out over that black- 
 ened land next day. The perspective of every- 
 thing was changed. It was like a desert of sand, 
 with dead, sooty hue as far as the eye could 
 reach. What few objects had been there to defy 
 combustion, stood out with startling distinctness. 
 Yonder the whitened skeleton of a horse, looked 
 
 190 
 
WINDY DAYS AND CALM 
 
 ghostly and uncanny. Little groups of eggs show- 
 ed where birds of the prairie had nested to poor 
 advantage. 
 
 Wind and rain soon wore off the blackness. 
 If strong breezes came before the rain, what sooty 
 clouds they drove against us ! Then came the 
 pleasure of watching the green of new prairie 
 grass begin to tinge the dark, making times of 
 fire danger seem far away. 
 
 Since the sins of hum^an beings frequently re- 
 ceive more renown than their good qualities, — 
 especially when heralded by the prejudiced press 
 of eastern states — so the good name of Nebraska 
 and Kansas has been discounted by undue prom- 
 inence being given to the winds. This tuber- 
 culosis ridden Ohio valley, might envy those 
 two prairie states their freedom from such an 
 affliction, giving sunshine and wind, credit for 
 a good share of it. 
 
 " Just to go home. " Someone wrote a poem 
 with that title, telling why it was worth all the 
 cares and trials of the business day, just to gain 
 the great pleasure of going home at night with a 
 
 191 
 
UNDER THE ICEROSENE LAMP 
 
 new appreciation of its quiet comfort. Whoever 
 watches the supper-hour crowds of a city, will 
 agree that the poem's sentiment must be more 
 or less true to life. 
 
 There was a parallel case out on those windy 
 prairies. Trials and cares of a boisterous day, 
 faded with the coming of blissful peace at its 
 close. We could say that over our land was an 
 aerial orchestra. When it crashed and boomed 
 with windy discords, the theme was leading to 
 a calm; that we might appreciate its beautiful 
 harmony by contrast. 
 
 192 
 
XIII 
 ALONG THE FENCE LINES 
 
 In Owen Wister's delightful story of the west, 
 The Virginian,- where that realistic and grue- 
 some chapter describes a horse thief hanging, 
 it is related that they were strung up in a clump 
 of cottonwoods; these being the only trees for 
 miles around which were suitable for the purpose 
 of the expedition. 
 
 Not a word here which might put a ghostly 
 halo around this variety of tree; but we wanted 
 to remark that it would have been almost the 
 only thing available for a lynching on Nebraska 
 prairie also. Our pioneers found that life in the 
 land of their earlier years, where timber must 
 be cleared from the soil before a home could be 
 made, and living in that new land where trees 
 must be planted and grown before the place 
 would seem like a home, became another matter 
 which must be solved. 
 
 193 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 Those who had cleared out brush and trees in 
 states further east, appreciated the clear, open 
 acres, which saved them an axeman's toil. But 
 especially during the winters, when the bleak 
 raw prairie of dead brown had so little to break 
 monotony of the view on all sides, longing came 
 for some of those old home trees. And when 
 the blizzards raged, thoughts of years in homes 
 where timber broke the force of winter storms, 
 caused sighs of regret. 
 
 Other sighs came for the firewood old home 
 trees had furnished. When it came to using 
 cornstalks for fuel, which really did happen in 
 some instance, visions of woodpiles with chip 
 trimmings, came all unbidden. These reasons, 
 together with provisions of the timber claim law, 
 combined to give the cottonwood a boom. Soon 
 young groves around the buildings, along lines 
 between farms and bordering the roads, were 
 making more or less of a showing. 
 
 Some old photographs, made to send back to 
 "the folks at home," give all aid memory needs 
 to tell of them. How pitiably straggling those 
 
 194 
 
ALONG THE FENCE LINES 
 
 thin rows appear, emphasizing nswness of the 
 land. The migrating artists made no attempt 
 at pictorial effect. They can hardly be blamed 
 for such shortcomings, as other requirements of 
 the picture kept the photographer shrouded in 
 grim responsibility. 
 
 The view must show all the farm buildings, 
 assembled live stock, machinery, hay and grain 
 stacks, and last but not least, all members of the 
 household including the hired help. It might 
 with propriety, be called a wholesale photograph. 
 As these were made on week days, all the folks, 
 including the horses, generally appeared in their 
 working harness. 
 
 The care taken to promote growth of young 
 cottonwoods, made them seem like som^ething 
 more than mere vegetable organisms. For sim- 
 plicity, the planting was all that could be desired. 
 Sticking down a row of "cuttings," was about as 
 easy as planting lead pencils to get a row of shade 
 trees. Boxalders were their running mates, and 
 cedars from the Platte were set out for ornamen- 
 tation of the yards. 
 
 195 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 "Along the fence lines." What a big job it 
 would be to follow them all, thru even a small 
 territory. Take one county alone, such as our 
 own York, with section lines crossing at every 
 mile. Then add those on half mile divisions 
 between quarters, and a portion of the individual 
 farm fields. 
 
 Suppose a row of trees stood on every line — 
 but too many of the present generation would be 
 shocked at such a suggestion. They have lost 
 the tree-loving dispositions of the homesteaders, 
 and are content with wire fence. 
 
 "Trees on the fence lines and along highways ? 
 rU say not ! They sap the ground awfully." 
 
 Just now, it does not appear worth while to 
 argue that they make up in other ways for the 
 sapping of a strip of ground, leaving wind pro- 
 tection and value of wood in the resource column. 
 Government reports back up this statement. The 
 sentiment is, "Cut down the trees along roads 
 and between farms. Get the last row of corn 
 up as close as possible to the fence. Farm every 
 foot available. Taxes are high." 
 
 196 
 
ALONG THE FENCE LINES 
 
 You cannot argue with such people. What 
 they need is a missionary to induce change of 
 heart, and give a new outlook on life. So let us 
 discuss the fence lines in other ways. 
 
 Some years ago, an aspiring literary critic took 
 William Dean Howells to task, for the simplicity 
 of his very popular stories. This wiseacre dubbed 
 them ''Fence corners of life," and said the world 
 must not be satisfied with such crude things in 
 its literature. 
 
 The position of Mr. Fiowells in American 
 Letters, has been too well established to suffer 
 much from carpers of that calibre. We will at 
 least assume, that a few remain, who might be 
 interested in some simple things of the fence 
 lines and secluded corners. 
 
 Do you remember summer days after heavy 
 rain, when it was too wet for work in the fields; 
 therefore you took a hammer and went along the 
 fences, to put in staples where cattle and horses 
 had pulled wires loose in strenuous endeavor to 
 get a few bites on the forbidden side. Is there 
 not something in the memory of such a day, to 
 
 197 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 give pleasure in thought of fence lines ? In those 
 places, the morning glory and wild rose secured a 
 foothold. The rose flourished best on edges of 
 the draw where the fence dipped down the in- 
 cline. Was there ever a sweeter scent than it 
 gave the pure, clear air over the rain-drenched 
 earth. Wild lilies were at home along the bottom, 
 in the bed of silt deposited by the washing of 
 spring rains. 
 
 The Cottonwood row, gradually increased in 
 height as it descended the draw, thus showing 
 its true nature as a low ground tree. The tops 
 made almost a straight line, like that of a railroad 
 grade crossing a similar depression. 
 
 Sometimes, when following the plow up and 
 down the corn rows, monotony settled like a pall 
 over the scene. This made one more likely to 
 observe small details in the way of stray flowers 
 and other things along the fence to give the mind 
 something to feed upon, while the team "blowed." 
 If only there was a market for the host of idle 
 thoughts and fancies, which pass thru the mind 
 during hours in the field. They may truthfully 
 
 198 
 
ALONG THE FENCE LINES 
 
 be called day dreams, and the argument that the 
 farmer has opportunity for self culture, appears 
 to be plausible. 
 
 With an obedient, well trained team, and a 
 Nebraska soil free from rocks or stumps, it did 
 not require much mental effort to follow the 
 plow. Alone from sun to sun, and no one near 
 with whom to talk, or anything exciting to wit- 
 ness, it was only natural to lock at the morning 
 glory, inhale the perf um^e of wild roses, or even 
 study spider webs and anthills. 
 
 During the long week, when duties were irk- 
 some to the prairie boys, the vista of the creek 
 valley a couple of miles away, had an alluring 
 charm. Possibly the week was a windy one, mak- 
 ing again for monotony in the round of field work. 
 Just then, a Saturday afternoon holiday meant a 
 good deal. With a few simple leaded lines and 
 hooks, and a nickel's worth of lean beef from the 
 local butcher shop, hope and contentment all 
 centered on chances of enticing the catfish from 
 cool retreats in shaded spots along Lincoln creek. 
 For unadulterated excitemicnt, it was not equal 
 
 199 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 to the annual trip to the Blue, but was more fre- 
 quently attained, and had interesting features of 
 its own for boys. 
 
 To follow the winding creek, from the bridge 
 over it at one section line to that at the next one, 
 was a source of enjoyment. The same stream 
 always, but in new shapes under changing lights 
 and shades at every turn. Now thru a stretch 
 of pasture, all in the open and bright sunlight. 
 Then under the trees which came down close to 
 the water's edge, with probably a high bank 
 close on one side. Here, all was so quiet, that 
 it was the place to stop and listen to calls of birds 
 up or down stream, and the tinkle of a cowbell. 
 We didn't use bells in the pastures on higher 
 ground away from the creek, for our cows hadn't 
 a chance on earth to hide. 
 
 One can feel a personal acquaintance with a 
 creek — can know all the little things about it, 
 necessary to give a feeling of friendship. Some- 
 one has said, "A river is too distant, too much 
 of an institution, and too little an individual." It 
 has a powerful facination, but is too far beyond 
 200 
 
ALONG THE FENCE LINES 
 
 anything human, to have a common tie where- 
 with to meet in playful mood. 
 
 Along these small prairie streams, the boys 
 cast calculating and artistic eye; to "compose" 
 landscapes for the camera. Here they learned 
 by disappointment in results, that all which is 
 glittering green, does not come out as gold in a 
 photograph. They came to realize that a cool, 
 shady dell, is not a place for amateurs to produce 
 their masterpiecees. 
 
 It was here also, they learned that after the 
 leaves had fallen, was the time to study a phase 
 of beauty in trees, which could not be had when 
 leaf masses hid trunk and branches. A tree is 
 picturesque at any stage of its life, and even of 
 decay down to rotting logs-— a thing no animal 
 life can be. The artist is glad when he can so 
 arrange that a dead tree will come into the fore- 
 ground of his picture, but the bones or skeleton 
 of some dead animal would be carefully rem.oved 
 from a similar location. Who does not like to 
 loaf around a woodpile, and who would care to 
 dally with a pile of bones? 
 
 201 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAIVTP 
 
 Those who follow fence lines of the farm and 
 range, observe many things concerning animal 
 life in the silent places. In watching cattle and 
 sheep in the pasture or on a range, there is al- 
 ways interest in the study of their movements 
 and doings, when left entirely to their own de- 
 vices. Feeding with heads all turned one way, 
 then without a command or signal, in five min- 
 utes the entire herd may be moving in the oppo- 
 site direction; grazing as peacefully as ever, and 
 without a mouthful of grass being lost. 
 
 Early in the morning, when they lie close to- 
 gether in the corral, or on some favorite spot 
 near the feeding ground, there is yet more inter- 
 est in watching them rise at leisure and move 
 out along the paths for a day's feeding. Why is 
 it that they seem to m^ake a direct line for some 
 spot today, and tomorrow head straight for an- 
 other ? Their mental processes are beyond the 
 understanding of man. 
 
 Then to watch the paths develop on a new 
 range. First, scattering lines of tracks, all lead- 
 ing in a general direction. Next, the paths of 
 202 
 
ALONG THE FENCE LINES 
 
 least resistance seem to be figured out in some 
 way, and certain routes begin to deepen and be- 
 come the thoroughfares, which even human 
 stragglers can follow with assurance. 
 
 In spite of the fact that these herds are merely 
 so much meat on the hoof, coolly calculated in 
 dollars and cents, silence of the pastures the day 
 after shipping, strikes a note hard to define in 
 detail. After watching for several months the 
 varied antics of a flock of spring lambs, care free, 
 and with apparently a well developed sense of 
 humor, vigorously expressed— who dees not feel 
 just a little pang of sadness when he views the 
 deserted playgrounds. All will be a brooding 
 stillness until spring comes again, and another 
 bunch is turned out to indulge in a constant suc- 
 cession of field day sports. 
 
 No very extended reverie about days along the 
 fence lines, could get far without something com- 
 ing in concerning the horse. Whoever, in early 
 years, has spent days and weeks and months 
 with them as sole companions, could not forget 
 his faithful friends. 
 
 203 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 In the multitude of western stories of recent 
 years, it has been a point with their authors to 
 make clear the hero's kindness to his horse; and 
 often the villain is loaded with it also. The idea 
 is a good one. 
 
 When a horse falls on a crowded street, men 
 step out to help him up or give advice, who 
 would never be suspicioned of knowing anything 
 but bank stocks and big business. Their early 
 farm training, and a heart they might not be 
 credited with having, all unite in making them 
 useful to the truck driver. 
 
 The faithful horse and his reward — no — "Be 
 good and you will be happy," does not always 
 reach into his life. Listen, kind lady, while we 
 tell of a mistreated horse. 
 
 It was a cloudy and dreary day in November, 
 with a chilling mist settling over the fields. The 
 last vestige of green, is gone from the closely 
 cropped prairie pastures. Until the long winter 
 and early spring months have passed, horses and 
 cattle must be content on dry feed. Did you 
 ever notice in the spring, when new green had 
 
 204 
 
ALONG THE FENCE LINES 
 
 begun to show in spots over the pasture, an old 
 horse who had gotten thru the winter in sorry 
 shape, now picking around trying to get a Uttle 
 of the tender grass, which would be a veritable 
 elixir of life to his toil-worn body. 
 
 On this dreary, late fall day, a request had 
 come to take an animal of such description, out 
 of a pasture and kill him. He was twenty-five 
 years old, and had passed a hard life of abuse 
 and overwork at the hands of unappreciative 
 masters. There was no record of their number, 
 but it is safe to say that many had left their mark 
 in unmistakable characters. 
 
 The instruments for the operation — a halter 
 and a rifle, were secured. At the pasture gate, 
 he came ambling up, shaking as with ague from 
 the chilly mist. But when the halter was placed 
 on his head, he gave a low whinny of joy; for 
 his idea seemed to be that a warm., dry place 
 was at hand, possibly with some tender hay 
 and soaked corn that his shattered teeth could 
 chew. Yes, old horse; you was right. It was 
 the mission that day, to make you comfortable, by 
 
 205 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 doing the very best thing for you under the cir- 
 cumstances. It was not exactly what you were 
 expecting, but stern reality dictated. And the 
 command was carried out — not in the spirit of 
 merely getting a worthless carcass out of the way, 
 but with full respect for the years of useful toil 
 you had faithfully given to man. 
 
 He followed willingly, and as coltishly as his 
 infirmities would allow. We reached an unfre- 
 quented spot a half mile away. The afternoon 
 was dark and dreary enough to fit mxst any kind 
 of a crime. 
 
 There was no reproaching conscience. It was 
 thru no fault of the executioner, that the victim 
 showed so plainly the effect of years of overwork 
 and rough treatment. There were bumps and 
 knobs all over him, accumulated in the various 
 ways toil gives them to a horse. On his shoul- 
 ders were white patches of hair, telling of raw 
 flesh under the collar, making him wince as he 
 went the endless rounds in the furrows of the 
 fields under the hot sun, with torturing flies to 
 fight at every step. 
 
 206 
 
ALONG THE FENCE LINES 
 
 Standing there in that silent and secluded spot, 
 wornout, discarded, but with the power yet left 
 to suffer physically — a thing which nature gives 
 all her creatures until the last — there was some- 
 thing in the injustice of it all, which made him 
 seem a representative of countless wronged ani- 
 mals mutely appealing their woes. 
 
 It was not the fact that he was to be shot, 
 which made for any appearance of injustice. The 
 mawkish sentiment which lays disapproval on 
 putting aged animals out of the way, counts for 
 nothing of benefit to the victim. 
 
 Let us pass details of the execution, leaving 
 that for our enterprising newspapers when the 
 next bandit is hung or electrocuted. Even if it 
 had been an old horse who had been the family 
 pet for a lifetime, and whose coat had always been 
 slick and shiny, it is not supposed that the mem- 
 bers of the household would enjoy taking a day 
 off to go out and have a picnic in honor of kill- 
 ing old Charlie; or quarrel over the privilege of 
 firing the fatal shot. Years of experience with 
 horses, does not leave one with a high opinion 
 
 207 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP. 
 
 as to their general range ol intelligence. But no 
 one needs to be told of their sensitiveness in the 
 things of physical makeup, which cause suffer- 
 ing from heat and cold, hunger and thirst — the 
 four things which also make the problem of ex- 
 istance for the human race. 
 
 When, tired by a day's labor in the field, man 
 and horse start homeward together, man for the 
 time being is little more than a tired animal seek- 
 ing rest. If he be in any degree conscientious, 
 his own aching muscles bring a sense of compas- 
 sion for the tired horses who have toiled all day 
 with him. The man who will neglect a tired 
 team after a day's work, will bear watching; for 
 he has a crooked streak somewhere. 
 
 208 
 
XIV 
 
 SILENT TRAILS 
 
 There is one silent trail which has not suffer- 
 ed decay or ruin since its desertion by man, and 
 that is the Ohio river. Practically, it is an un- 
 used waterway. While coal "fleets" yet carry 
 large cargces, the total volume of traffic as com- 
 pared with days long past, is so small that the 
 few boats seen now only emphasize desertion of 
 the great stream. What the future will be when 
 the new series of dams now under construction, 
 gets into action and maintains a barge stage dur- 
 ing periods of low water, is not under discussion 
 in this chapter. 
 
 To watch the Ohio during a cycle of seasons — 
 how many different stream.s it appears to be un- 
 der varying lights and shades of spring, summer, 
 autumn and winter. Under the bright sky of a 
 June day, with those beautiful green hills fading 
 into hazy distance, it is not the same stream one 
 
 209 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 sees under a full moon the following night. Then, 
 the hills are but outlines in black against the sky, 
 with shining stars above; and the stream, with 
 movement of the current nearly hidden by the 
 soft light, seems more like a long lake between 
 mountain ranges. 
 
 And at sundown, to watch the gradual trans- 
 formation from the river of day to that dream of 
 the June night. While the sky is yet full of soft 
 twilight, the Ohio is at its prettiest. Free from 
 all reflecting glare of the sun, every little break 
 on the surface is brought out by delicately color- 
 ed hues from the western horizon, or evening 
 clouds above. The ruffled patches of shallow 
 water over the sandbars; the w^hirling eddies 
 and arrow-pointed wakes at sterns of motor boats, 
 or the boiling line churned up by steamers — all 
 stand out in sharp relief, tinted by the sky with 
 a softness no artist could equal. 
 
 As the twilight deepens, and movements of 
 
 the current become indistinct, it gives the effect 
 
 of the stream coming to rest for the night like a 
 
 thing of life — a life resistful and unyielding to 
 
 210 
 
"It is but a small strain on the imagination 
 to put rr.ules back on the towpath." 
 
 -page 
 
 212 
 
SILENT TRAILS 
 
 any efforts of man to control it. There is a fac- 
 ination for many people in watching the current, 
 increased no doubt, by knowledge of its great 
 volume. Although classed among silent trails, 
 as far as real importance in navigation is con- 
 cerned at present, it is yet the grand old river of 
 other days, ready for whatever the future may 
 hold in store for it. 
 
 Thru Indiana and Ohio, the old canals which 
 once connected lake Erie with the big river, still 
 furrow the valleys and wind along bases of the 
 hills. In some places, just a scar shows where 
 commerce of the new states passed back and forth. 
 In other places, the old ditch lies just as it did 
 when water was last shut off at the reservoirs. 
 Between Dayton and Cincinnati, the sleepy cur- 
 rent yet drifts along; and the towpath does duty 
 as a road for foot passengers and bicycles. 
 
 A stroll along a section of this old canal, pass- 
 ing here and there rotting locks and spillways, 
 a sunken barge or other relic of those times, takes 
 one back a little from the rush and roar of trol- 
 ley cars and speeding trains. It is but a small 
 
 211 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 strain on the imagination to put mules on the 
 towpath; especially as the canal still has friends, 
 who keep trying to revive its days of usefulness. 
 It is an odd situation — this argument between 
 those who believe that the old ditch should be 
 filled up, and those who argue for its enlarge- 
 ment to carry today's traffic. 
 
 In our first days on the Nebraska plain, while 
 yet the prairie lay unbroken, there were deserted 
 thoroughfares, impressive in their significance. 
 Deeply rutted by rains and weathering, routes 
 of the hardy ones who had passed by wagon years 
 before to the Rockies or beyond, showed sharply 
 in relief against the short grass to the horizon. In 
 the silence of these old trails, thought of the slow 
 and tedious grind, day after day, with unavoid- 
 able privation and suffering, always gave the old 
 highways a touch of the weird. Now, the West, 
 in appreciative remembrance, is marking the line 
 with inscribed granite, and beginning to take 
 pride in its history. 
 
 Farther west, are deserted trails of another 
 sort; telling graphically of man s struggle to estab- 
 
 212 
 
SILENT TRAILS 
 
 lish paths for bands of steel in the mountain 
 wilderness. In Colorado, Utah and Nevada, 
 are many miles of abandoned roadbed with ties 
 still in place, or their imprint showing plainly if 
 removed. Here and there old piling where a 
 bridge stood, with some cf the old timbers in 
 decay thereon. At curves along the mountain 
 side, whistling posts with traces of white paint 
 yet remaining. And of all things ! — a sign faintly 
 legible— "Lock Out For The Cars." 
 
 Strolling along one of these old grades, or thru 
 a "cut" high up on the forested slope, gives the 
 imagination a full diet to digest. While many 
 miles of this phantom railroad have been replac- 
 ed by lines located from better surveys, many 
 other miles are in decay because their usefulness 
 is over. In some of the old mining towns, a de- 
 serted depot with the trackless roadbed leading 
 from it out thru the canon, brings thoughts of 
 endless dramas, in which such thrilling titles as 
 "The Rise and Fall of a Mining Town," might 
 keep a dozen film companies busy, if all of its 
 history could be told. 
 
 213 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 What a romance could have been handed down 
 from the grading and construction camps of those 
 pioneer lines. Rough men, a rough life, and a 
 rough, hard task. With every crudely marked 
 grave on the hillsides along the way, how much 
 interesting history may be buried. 
 
 When one reared in a land of trees, grass and 
 running streams, stands alone for the first time 
 in a stretch of western desert country, with no 
 sound from any point reaching the ear, and real- 
 izes that he is the only living thing within the 
 circle of silence, his feeling is intense, but not 
 to be described in words. If a little sage brush 
 happens to be in sight, it only intensifies the 
 feeling of being the whole thing. 
 
 Thru the window of a Pulhnan, the average 
 tourist idly watches lonely stretches in Arizona 
 and New Mexico. Even such soil as that varies 
 in worth. In the last stage of fertility, comes 
 the herder and his sheep; his tent a white spot 
 out in the sage brush and catcus, with his flock 
 scattered around it. The herder, standing like 
 a statue, watches the train go by. 
 
 214 
 
SILENT TRAILS 
 
 "Arizona Nights," indeed ! If this shepherd 
 of the desert had Hterary talent, what tales he 
 might tell of the stillness, which the coyote's 
 yelp only intensifies and deepens, Out there, 
 if you have a job which would drive a white 
 man insane — get a Mexican. Long days and 
 weeks and months in the midst of such uncanny 
 vegetation, with scatterings of a little which the 
 sheep will eat, is no calling for any man who 
 knows there is an inhabited world. 
 
 We had a loneliness in early prairie days, but 
 it was not of the desert brand. Some, though, 
 goaded by homesickness, were known to have 
 called York county a second Sahara. But they 
 stayed just the same, and in due time, joined the 
 Booster Club. 
 
 Once more the long line of snow covered peaks, 
 shows in sharp relief above the purple-black foot- 
 hills, while the Burlington train is yet a couple 
 of hours out of Denver. The sun, although not 
 above ths eastern horizon as seen from a car win- 
 dow, is bathing the old sentinels with a soft 
 glow. The snow line, half way down their sides 
 
 215 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 for a hundred miles or more, ends so evenly and 
 abruptly that it looks much like a carefully ap- 
 plied coat of paint. 
 
 Reaching the city, the view down Sixteenth 
 street toward the range, shows a section of moun- 
 tain white looking much like a circus tent placed 
 across the street a number of blocks away. A 
 few creased and dark lines strengthen the illusion. 
 But as the sun mounts higher, its strong light 
 clears the air and all deception ends. Far from 
 the turmoil, that clear cut line of the peaks be- 
 yond the foothills, lies stately with the silence of 
 ages; giving emphasis to noise of the street, and 
 unspeakable dignity to the heights beyond. 
 
 The sixty or seventy years of man's struggle for 
 mastery in the region, is only a moment in the 
 geological life of The Continental Divide. The 
 snowy summits, high in the pure, clear air, are 
 independent of man s coming and going, or any 
 of his erratic doings. 
 
 During the afternoon of the same day, at an 
 hour when the street is crowded with shoppers 
 and vehicles, a team of oxen advertising a dairy 
 216 
 
SILENT TRAILS 
 
 concern, is driven at their customary leisurely 
 gait down the thoroughfare, thereby attracting 
 much attention. 
 
 In a flash, sight of the slow-moving pair brings 
 back the memory of a journey made about forty- 
 four years ago. From York to the Platte, our 
 route then followed the valley of this shallow, 
 sandy, island-dotted stream., to this same Denver. 
 Hardly the same, if physical makeup only is con- 
 sidered. But in the eyes of a very small boy see- 
 ing street cars, [horse drawn,] for the first time, 
 it looked larger than at present. 
 
 An ox team furnished miotive power for the 
 pioneer day trip also. True, horses had been 
 invented some years before, and were used, al- 
 most exclusively for such overland journsys. But 
 for some experimental reason or other, the time- 
 honored ox was selected. Saying the least, it 
 was a bitter piece of irony to christen the expedi- 
 tion a pleasure trip. In the fifties, some had 
 even crossed to California by persistently prod- 
 ding the patient ox. What they called their 
 trips, might not be fit to print. 
 
 217 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 At the time of this ox-power jaunt to the 
 mountains, the Platte valley and adjacent coun- 
 try surely had some silent trails. When the re- 
 gion of scant rainfall in eastern Colorado was 
 slowly and tediously being traversed, to a very 
 youthful mind in the party, it seemed a dead 
 certainty that the end of the earth was being 
 approached. 
 
 Once, a day's journey showed no sign of hu- 
 man habitation. Nothing but endless monotony 
 of the plain, broken occasionally by low bluffs, 
 or a dry creek with clumps of cotton woods and 
 brush at irregular intervals. The glare of the 
 sun put a ghostly weirdness into the scene, and 
 helped to make it appear as part of an unfinished 
 world. A solitary ranch house with low out 
 buildings and high corrals, only intensified the 
 general depressing effect. 
 
 To the small boy, all this was an impressive 
 thing, but he had a fever of impatience burning 
 within. Since the beginning of the journey, the 
 thought that he was actually to see mountains 
 with snow on them in summer, had almost put 
 218 
 
SILENT TRAILS 
 
 him in a state of unaccountability for his actions. 
 At times when dark storm clouds loomed at sun- 
 set, and the wagon was chained down to prevent 
 its being shoved into the river by terrific wind 
 which came with the thunder and lightning and 
 blinding sheets of rain, his little bed back home 
 would have been a welcome spot. 
 
 And when the ox-drawn wagon was put in 
 with a dozen or so horse-drawn ones, traveling 
 together in socialistic state for protection against 
 bands of marauding Indians who happened to be 
 causing trouble just then, and when companies 
 of soldiers in the old army blue were met, the 
 youngster was pop-eyed with fear lest there were 
 not enough soldiers to exterminate the redskins. 
 How on earth could anyone call that a pleasure 
 excursion honest and true? 
 
 At last came a morning when a dark, undulat- 
 ing line with some sharp points, lay on the west- 
 ern horizon. The highest places in the line had 
 white clouds hiding part of them. No ! — they 
 then told the boy that the mountain range was 
 in sight at last, and snow was hiding the tops of 
 
 219 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 the peaks. When he asked if the wagons would 
 reach them by dinner time, he wondered why 
 everybody laughed so hard. Told that it would 
 be three days or more at the rate the party was 
 traveling, before they would be reached, he re- 
 signed himself as best might be to the slow pace 
 the caravan seemed bound to adopt; little realiz- 
 ing that the range was seventy-five miles or 
 more away. 
 
 At camping time that night, the prospect was 
 discouraging. The peaks did not show as plainly 
 as they did in the morning. All the next day, 
 there was nothing in sight on the horizon except 
 the usual scattering of lonesom^e and forlorn low, 
 sandy hills. Even the third morning and fore- 
 noon revealed nothing. But in the afternoon, a 
 distant bank of thick, cloud-like haze was thin- 
 ning; and outlines of the peaks, now looming in 
 a way which almost scared the boy, gradually 
 grew stronger in the clearing sky. 
 
 That night, when camp was made just out- 
 side of Denver, the sun sank behind a majestic 
 mass, fringed with cloud and color. The long, 
 
 220 
 
SILENT TRAILS 
 
 tedious days behind the ox team, the Indian and 
 the storms were all forgotten in wild anticipation 
 of mountain days to come. It now began to look 
 more like a pleasure excursion. 
 
 Going over the same route today in an auto- 
 mobile instead of behind an ox team, it is evident 
 that this trail has not become a silent one after 
 so many years. And what is mere, there is no 
 chance for the old highway to get a nap in the 
 future.. Nebraska people are never going to tire 
 of a spin to Colorado's parks, with a roadful of 
 transient cars with which to dispute the way. A 
 trip behind an ox team, and one behind a motor 
 that never tired — what a contrast. 
 
 Eagerness of the prairie boy to see snow in 
 summer, is equalled every day on the Denver- 
 bound trains, by grown-up folks from eastern 
 states, who have never before seen the barrier 
 which brings such an abrupt ending to the great 
 stretch of plain. 
 
 Who does not like to follow a trail, whether 
 it be only a simple path thru the grass, a road 
 winding along a stream, or one leading far into 
 
 221 
 
UNDER THE KEROSENE LAMP 
 
 the hills. All memories of past life lead along 
 silent trails. The farther back, the more dim 
 the trail becomes. 
 
 After a long and toilsome climb up a mountain 
 pass, one pauses to look at the road yet in view 
 far below, over which he toiled willingly in the 
 morning sun, with a new interest at every turn 
 of the way. 
 
 There may be chilly winds at the summit, but 
 in the valley ahead at the trail's end, can be seen 
 silver lakes and ribbons of streams; made more 
 alluring by knowledge of their delectable camp- 
 ing places in the stillness of sheltered nooks. By 
 the campfire, looking back at the looming mass 
 over which lies the trail, memory brings pictures 
 of the road beyond the pass — route of the morn- 
 ing climb. The expectancy, or anticipation and 
 interest in what would be seen during the day, 
 all combine to carry camp reflections back to the 
 start at dawn. 
 
 There comes a time in middle life, when days 
 of youth are yet fresh in mind like those of the 
 climb over the mountain pass. But with a few 
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SILENT TRAILS 
 
 years more of distance added, taking the traveler 
 farther down into the valley of later life where 
 he hopes to find a peaceful camping place, he 
 begins to lose details concerning his state of mind 
 when all of life's winding road lay ahead. 
 
 Days when the Bluestem waved gracefully 
 above the shorter prairie grass, come back to 
 those who knew Nebraska when section lines 
 were disregarded, and the trail-like road went 
 across at any angle convenient for the shortest 
 route to the hopeful county seats. There was 
 no climb over the pass to make. No difficulty 
 other than a few mud holes where the way had 
 been led thru a basin. 
 
 Today, our excellent highways, strictly con- 
 ventional and true to lines of the checker-board 
 survey, make more for a comparison to exagger- 
 ated city blocks than anything else. Old roads 
 of our prairie days are gone. For a view of them 
 we must go back in memory to the great realm 
 of silent trails. 
 
 NO ROAD 
 223