At this he called me to him and began a delineation of my character. The very first thing he said was:
"You can put this boy on a lone island with nothing but a pocket knife, and he will manage to whittle himself away."
From this, he went on to say many more good things for me than bad ones, which, of course, gratified me exceedingly.
But it was hot shot for others of the family who were present, and who had never lost an opportunity to remind me of my future destiny.
This gentleman said to my mother, that the principle trouble was her lack of knowledge of my disposition. That if she would shame me at times when I was unruly, and make requests instead of demands when she wanted favors from me, and above all, never to chastise me, she would see quite a change for the better.
He also ventured the remark that some day, under the present management, the boy would pack up his clothes, leave home, and never let his whereabouts be known.
This opened my mother's eyes more than all else he had said, for I had often threatened to do this very thing. In fact I had once been thwarted by her in an effort to make my escape, which would have been accomplished but for my anxiety to get possession of "the old shot gun," which I felt I would need in my encounter with Indians, and killing bear and wild game. I might add that one of our neighbor boys was to decamp with me, and the dime novel had been our guide.
From this time on there was a general reformation and reconciliation, and my only regrets were that "hay forks" hadn't been invented several years before, or at least, that this glorious good man with his stock of information hadn't made his appearance earlier.
The greatest pleasure of my farm life and boyhood days was in squirrel hunting and breaking colts and young steers.