“An angel went with me.”
From all indications one is led to believe that the angel that guided and went with him was none other than the lovely Jeanne Fisher.
The following morning Jimmie awakened still feeling strong with the religious spirit.
He felt strong with the spirit which had entered his body the night before and he wanted the whole world to know all about it. Little did he realize the blow that his inflated and loving disposition was to receive in a short time. His parents thought it fine for this thing to have happened to their son, but at the same time felt that other people might object to it. Unfortunately enough, Jimmie could not control himself and so to his schoolmates he told of his wonderful experience. As he spoke of the new faith that had become his, his schoolmates promptly laughed in his face.
“Ha! Ha! You’re crazy, Jimmie Curwood. You’re crazy!”
Then everyone took up the chant. On that day Jimmie found himself involved in a total of five different fights, for he could not stand to have anyone say that he was crazy because he believed in something which was wonderful and something which had taken possession of his mind, body and soul. However, like all youngsters eventually come to find, Jimmie found that the flesh is weaker than the soul. From that day forth Jimmie was still given drubbings from time to time.
During those hectic days one person other than his family stood beside him to comfort and advise him. That person was his “Whistling Jeanne.”
Days lengthened into weeks and weeks into months and still Jimmie continued to pick up stones on his father’s farmlands; stones that were to later prove themselves to be “worth their weight in gold.”
The longer he remained at his daily task the more his air castles grew. His vivid imagination gave rise to dreams and hopes of greater things. All his visions and plans were strictly private and no one was allowed to interfere with the young creative artist’s dreams. Not even little Jeanne nor his pal Skinny was allowed to pierce their sacred portals. What he felt, what he dreamed of, and what he planned to do were all sacred thoughts and now vitally important to this nine-and-one-half year old lad.
Long after the usual supper hour had been completed Jimmie would go to his room to think and to plan and to write. Many were the times that his mother had to beg her puzzling offspring to put his books aside and go to bed in order to get the proper amount of rest. Jimmie’s mind was thoroughly made up and he was really intent upon what he was working for and seeking so desperately.