I was born shortly after sunset about thirty years ago. My ancestors,
natives of England, settled in this country not long after the
_Mayflower_ first sailed into Plymouth Harbor. And the blood of these
ancestors, by time and the happy union of a Northern man and a Southern
woman--my parents--has perforce been blended into blood truly American.

The first years of my life were, in most ways, not unlike those of
other American boys, except as a tendency to worry made them so. Though
the fact is now difficult for me to believe, I was painfully shy. When
first I put on short trousers, I felt that the eyes of the world were
on me; and to escape them I hid behind convenient pieces of furniture
while in the house and, so I am told, even sidled close to fences when
I walked along the street. With my shyness there was a degree of
self-consciousness which put me at a disadvantage in any family or
social gathering. I talked little and was ill at ease when others spoke
to me.

Like many other sensitive and somewhat introspective children, I passed
through a brief period of morbid righteousness. In a game of
"one-old-cat," the side on which I played was defeated. On a piece of
scantling which lay in the lot where the contest took place, I
scratched the score. Afterwards it occurred to me that my inscription
was perhaps misleading and would make my side appear to be the winner.
I went back and corrected the ambiguity. On finding in an old tool
chest at home a coin or medal, on which there appeared the text, "Put
away the works of darkness and put on the armour of light," my sense of
religious propriety was offended. It seemed a sacrilege to use in this
way such a high sentiment, so I destroyed the coin.

I early took upon myself, mentally at least, many of the cares and