From Canal Boy to President | Page 2

XXXII.--FROM CANAL-BOY TO PRESIDENT
XXXIII.--THE NEW ADMINISTRATION
XXXIV.--THE TRAGIC END
XXXV.--MR. DEPEW'S ESTIMATE OF GARFIELD
XXXVI.--THE LESSONS OF HIS LIFE

THE
BOYHOOD AND MANHOOD
OF
JAMES A. GARFIELD.
CHAPTER I.
THE FIRST PAIR OF SHOES.
From a small and rudely-built log-cabin a sturdy boy of four years
issued, and looked earnestly across the clearing to the pathway that led
through the surrounding forest. His bare feet pressed the soft grass,
which spread like a carpet before the door.
"What are you looking for, Jimmy?" asked his mother from within the
humble dwelling.
"I'm looking for Thomas," said Jimmy.

"It's hardly time for him yet. He won't be through work till after
sunset."
"Then I wish the sun would set quick," said Jimmy.
"That is something we can not hasten, my son. God makes the sun to
rise and to set in its due season."
This idea was probably too advanced for Jimmy's comprehension, for
he was but four years of age, and the youngest of a family of four
children. His father had died two years before, leaving a young widow,
and four children, the eldest but nine, in sore straits. A long and severe
winter lay before the little family, and they had but little corn garnered
to carry them through till the next harvest. But the young widow was a
brave woman and a devoted mother.
"God will provide for us," she said, but sometimes it seemed a mystery
how that provision was to come. More than once, when the corn was
low in the bin, she went to bed without her own supper, that her four
children, who were blessed with hearty appetites, might be satisfied.
But when twelve months had gone by, and the new harvest came in, the
fields which she and her oldest boy had planted yielded enough to place
them beyond the fear of want. God did help them, but it was because
they helped themselves.
But beyond the barest necessaries the little family neither expected nor
obtained much. Clothing cost money, and there was very little money
in the log-cabin, or indeed in the whole settlement, if settlement it can
be called. There was no house within a mile, and the village a mile and
a half away contained only a school-house, a grist-mill, and a little log
store and dwelling.
Two weeks before my story opens, a farmer living not far away called
at the log-cabin. Thomas, the oldest boy, was at work in a field near the
house.
"Do you want to see mother?" he asked.

"No, I want to see you."
"All right, sir! Here I am," said Thomas, smiling pleasantly.
"How old are you?" asked the farmer.
"Eleven years old, sir."
The farmer surveyed approvingly the sturdy frame, broad shoulders,
and muscular arms of the boy, and said, after a pause, "You look pretty
strong of your age."
"Oh, yes, sir," answered Thomas, complacently "I am strong."
"And you are used to farm work?"
"Yes, sir. I do about all the outdoor work at home, being the only boy.
Of course, there is Jimmy, but he is only four, and that's too young to
work on the farm."
"What does he want?" thought Thomas.
He soon learned.
"I need help on my farm, and I guess you will suit me," said Mr.
Conrad, though that was not his name. In fact, I don't know his name,
but that will do as well as any other.
"I don't know whether mother can spare me, but I can ask her," said
Thomas. "What are you willing to pay?"
"I'll give you twelve dollars a month, but you'll have to make long
days."
Twelve dollars a month! Tom's eyes sparkled with joy, for to him it
seemed an immense sum--and it would go very far in the little family.
"I am quite sure mother will let me go," he said. "I'll go in and ask her."

"Do so, sonny, and I'll wait for you here."
Thomas swung open the plank door, and entered the cabin.
It was about twenty feet one way by thirty the other. It had three small
windows, a deal floor, and the spaces between the logs of which it was
built were filled in with clay. It was certainly an humble dwelling, and
the chances are that not one of my young readers is so poor as not to
afford a better. Yet, it was not uncomfortable. It afforded fair protection
from the heat of summer, and the cold of winter, and was after all far
more desirable as a home than the crowded tenements of our larger
cities, for those who occupied it had but to open the door and windows
to breathe the pure air of heaven, uncontaminated by foul odors or the
taint of miasma.
"Mother,"