the will of God, it was surely for my best good.

My first hero worship came to me while a newsboy. A former resident of
the town had returned from America with a modicum of fame. He had left
a labourer, and returned a "Mr." He delivered a lecture in the town
hall, and, out of curiosity, the town turned out to hear him. I was at
the door with my papers. It was a very cold night, and I was shivering
as I stood on one foot leaning against the door post, the sole of the
other foot resting upon my bare leg. But nobody wanted papers at a
lecture. The doorkeeper took pity upon me, and, to my astonishment,
invited me inside. There on a bench, with my back to the wall and my
feet dangling six inches from the floor, I listened to a lecture about
a "rail-splitter." It took me many years to find out what a
rail-splitter was; but the rail-splitter's name was Lincoln, and he
became my first hero.

From the selling of papers on the streets of Antrim, I went to work on
a farm, 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