cream. He died several years ago, and the business he established is a large and thriving one today.

The section in which our farm was located was originally settled by two brothers, Silas D., and Barney Horton. The former was my mother's father, and the latter was the father of James M. Horton above mentioned. These two brothers, then young men, came into the section when it was a wild forest. Their first work was to build a log house. They brought such provision as they could carry on their backs, felled trees and built a small cabin. I can remember as a small boy hearing "Uncle Barney", then about eighty years old, relate how they were obliged to build a fire in front of the cabin to keep the wolves away, and that as they laid in their cabin bed at night they could hear the wolves howling lustily — and this is only 70 miles from New York.

In the Fall of 1865 my father sold the farm. I was then 13 years old. I think my mother prevailed upon my father to give up the farm in order that their sons might have greater advantages. So, in January 1866 an auction sale was advertised, and in the one day's sale our dairy, farming tools and implements were all disposed of. I have a distinct recollection that the sale of cows averaged $55.00 per head, and that the auctioneer was jubilant, as that was considered a high average price.

A neighbor at the sale wanted to buy our Shepherd dog, and my father referred him to me, telling him that whatever bargain I made was all right. I sold the dog and the dog-house to this neighbor for $10.00, and this sum was added to my personal wealth.

Two years previous to this time our community had formed the Rockville Creamery Association on a purely co-operative basis. A Creamery was built with a wing, covering a beautiful spring of never-failing water, around which heavy boxes or vats were built, and in these the milk was cooled. My father was chosen as President and General Manager of the Association. He gave his whole time to the business, going to the Creamery in the morning from the farm, and returning in the evening. My job was to drive to the Creamery (a distance of two miles) twice a day with out milk, and it was on a late afternoon trip that I learned from a neighbor boy of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.