He was a friend to the poor, the widow and orphan. He raised four orphans and looked to the extent of his ability after objects of charity. I heard in my childhood how many such objects have died in his house, but do not now remember. We will know after awhile when the books are opened.
My father inherited the old homestead. The house was a hewed log house, covered with chestnut shingles, covered when nails were not to be had. The shingles were pinned to the laths. When not quite four years old my mother died, leaving a girl baby, something over a year old, the only girl in the family. Our father had to tend his mill, superintend the farm, and attend his meetings; neighbor women were kind, but we were a family of neglected ones. My oldest brother had gone into the tanning business, and was looking after a wife. It was a good farmer in those days that could afford biscuit for breakfast Sunday mornings. Uncle John Hicks came nearer doing so than most men in that part. Uncle John had a grown daughter, and brother often went to the Hicks' residence. And we were always rejoiced when we could think brother had gone to see Miss Hicks; for she would fill his coat pockets with biscuits for us children. And now if I should at any place where I stop to hold a meeting find a family that could make biscuit that would taste half as well as those did I certainly would make that my home while in those parts. Brother married a Miss Huffaker, but in a little over a year they were both laid in the Arter Creek cemetery.
Before I reached my thirteenth birthday father was called to go. He called me his boy baby. He was old and feeble, and was only sick about nine days. In the evening before he died at night he was helped from his lips to the stream of cold water and seated, and wet his mouth. He then fixed his eyes upon me, and with an effort that called for all his strength he prayed for the blessing of God to rest upon his boy. These were his last words. We were then a broken family. The third brother took charge of the little girl, the boys each had to care for himself. If children who have a home and kind parents that they fail to appreciate could only spend a few months as we spent the next few years, it would perhaps be a good schooling.
After the death of my father I went first to live with an aunt on my mother's side. This was a mistake, not that I could have gone into a nicer family than Doctor Fleming's. Kinder old folks, or nicer children I could not have been with. Aunt was one of the nicest hands in that country to make cloth. Father kept sheep and raised flax, and had cloth made twice a year. He would have jeans enough made in the fall to make the boys each two pair of pants and a hunting shirt. In the spring he would have tow and flax cloth made. Each of the boys would get two pair of tow pants. The larger boys that were wanting to get out into society would get a flax pair for Sunday use. Some times there would be sufficient flax scraps to make the "boy baby" a pair of pants. When such was the case there would be one cheerful heart in that family. When the cloth would be ready the women of the neighborhood would come, en mass, cut and make the garments. Upon one occasion, a woman that did not understand her business as she might have done was given the task of cutting and making my flax pants. She missed it so far in cutting that when they were done I could not get into them. I was
