I was but sixteen years old, but I had been born and raised in the mill, and I understood the business fully as well as the average miller.
I ground out all the wheat, corn, rye, and buckwheat that came to hand, took my portion of the same and disposed of it to the best advantage. In addition to this I used up all my spare time in drumming up trade; and what more could any one do?
With the exception of my father, and an uncle whom I had never seen, I was alone in the world. My mother had died four years before, while I was still attending the district school, and two years later my twin sisters had followed her.
These deaths had been a severe blow to both my father and myself. To me my mother had been all that such a kind and loving parent can be, and my sisters had been my only playmates.
My father and I were not left long to mourn. There were heavy bills to be met, and we worked night and day to get out of debt.
At length came the time when all was free and clear, and we were nearly two hundred dollars ahead. Then my father got it into his mind that he could do better in some new Western place; and he left to be gone at least three months.
For a time all worked smoothly. I had for a helper a young man named Daniel Ford, a hearty, whole-souled fellow, and we got along splendidly together; but one night an accident happened.
The raceway to the mill was an old one, and a heavy rain-storm increased the volume of water to such an extent that it was partly carried away. I had the damage repaired at once; but the cost was such that it threw us once more into debt, and made it necessary for me to purchase groceries from Mr. Jackson on credit.
This I hated to do, knowing well the mean spirit of the man. But his store was the only one on this side of Rock Island Lake where my father was in the habit of purchasing, and I had to submit.
“Humph! seems to me old Jackson is mighty sharp after his money,” observed Ford, who was at work in the mill, and had overheard our conversation.