I was at that age when children think
of their parents as being all-powerful.
I could hardly have imagined any cir-
cumstances, however adverse, that my
father could not have met with his
strength and wisdom and skill. All chil-
dren have such a period of hero-wor-
ship, I suppose, when their father
stands out from the rest of the world
as the best and most powerful man
living. So, feeling as I did, I was made
happier than I can say when my father
decided, because I was looking pale and
had a poor appetite, to take me out of
school for a while, and carry me with
him on a driving trip. We lived in
Michigan, where there were, in the days
of which I am writing, not many rail-
roads; and when my father, who was
attorney for a number of wholesale mer-
cantile firms in Detroit, used to go
about the country collecting money due,
adjusting claims, and so on, he had no
choice but to drive.

And over what roads! Now it was
a strip of corduroy, now a piece of well-
graded elevation with clay subsoil and
gravel surface, now a neglected stretch
full of dangerous holes; and worst of