From the Bottom Up | Page 4

the owner of which was a Member of Parliament for our county,
one James Chaine by name. My first work on the farm was the keeping

of crows off the potato crop. Technically speaking, I was a scarecrow.
It was in the autumn, and the potatoes were ripe. I was permitted to
help myself to them, so three times a day I made a fire at the edge of
the wood and roasted as many potatoes as I could eat, and for the first
time in my life I enjoyed the pleasure of a full meal.
In the solitude of the potato field came my first vision. I was a firm
believer in the "wee people," but my visions were not entirely peopled
with fairies. The life of the woods was very fascinating to me. I enjoyed
the birds and the wild flowers, and the sportive rabbits, of which the
woods were full. The bell which closed the labourer's day was always
an unwelcome sound to me.
After the ingathering of the potato crop, I was given work in the
farmyard, attending to horses and cattle, as jack of all jobs. In the
spring of the following year, I went again to work in the potato field,
and later to care for the crop as before. It was during my second autumn
as a scarecrow that I had an experience which changed the current of
my life. It was on a Monday, and during the entire day I kept humming
over and over two lines of a hymn I had heard in the Sunday School.
Nothing ever happened to me that remains quite so vividly in my mind
as that experience.
I was sitting on the fence at the close of the day, a very happy day. I
must have been moved by the colour of the sky, or by the emotion
produced by the lines of the hymn. It may have been both. But, as I sat
on the fence and watched the sun set over the trees, an emotion swept
over me, and the tears began to flow. My body seemed to change as by
the pouring into it of some strange, life-giving fluid. I wanted to shout,
to scream aloud; but instead, I went rapidly over the hill into the woods,
dropped on my knees, and began to pray.
It was getting dark, but the woods were filled with light. Perhaps it was
the light of my vision or the light of my mind--I know not. But when I
came back into the open, I felt as though I were walking on air. As I
passed through the farmyard, I came in contact with some of the men;
and their questions led me to believe that some of the experience
remained on my face; but I naïvely set aside their questions and passed

on down the country road to the town.
That night as I climbed to the little loft, I realized for the first time in
my life that I had never slept in a bed, but on a pallet of straw. My bed
covering was composed of old gunny sacks sewed together; and
automatically, when I took my clothes off, I made a pillow of them.
Many a night I had been kept awake by the gnawing pangs of hunger;
but this night I was kept awake for a different reason. It was an
indescribable ecstasy, a new-born joy. As I lay there with my head
about a foot from the thatched roof, I hummed over and over again the
two lines of the hymn, sometimes breaking the continuity in giving way
to tears.
The second revelation came to me the following morning. I realized the
condition of my body. I was in rags and dirty. I shook my mother out of
her slumber and begged her to help me sew up the rents in my clothes. I
had no shoes, but I carefully washed my feet, combed my tousled,
unkempt hair, and took great pains in the washing of my face. All of
this was a mystery to my mother. She wanted to know what had
happened to me, and a very unusual thing ended the preparations for
the day. My mother said I looked "purty," and kissed me as I went out
of the door.
As I walked up the street that morning, I shared my joy with the first
living thing I met--the saloon-keeper's old dog, Rover. I shook his paw
and said, "Morrow, Rover." Everything looked beautiful. The world
was full of joy. I was perfectly sure that the birds were sharing it, for
they sang that morning as I had never heard them sing before. I
resolved to let at least one person into the secret. I was sure that my
sister