Martin Conwell worked as a stonemason every spare minute, and in addition opened a store in the mountain home in a small room adjoining the living room.  Neighbors and the world of his day saw only a poor farmer, stonemason and small storekeeper.  But in versatility, energy and public spirit, he was far greater than his environment.  Considered only as the man there was a largeness of purpose, a broadness of mental and spiritual vision about him that gave a subtle atmosphere of greatness and unconsciously influenced his son to take big views of life.

In the little store one day was enacted a drama not without its effect on Russell’s impressionable mind.  For a brief time, the store became a court room; a flour barrel was the judge’s bench, a soap box and milking stool, the lawyers’ seats.  The proceedings greatly interested Russell, who lay flat on his breast on the counter, his heels in the air, his chin in his hands, drinking it in with ears and eyes.

[Illustration:  The Conwell farmhouse at south Worthington, mass.]

A neighbor had lost a calf, a white-faced calf with a broken horn.  In the barn of a neighbor had been seen a white-faced calf with a broken horn.  The coincidence was suspicions.  The plaintiff declared it was his calf.  The defendant swore he had never seen the lost heifer, and that the one in his barn he had raised himself.  Neighbors lent their testimony, for the little store was crowded, a justice of the peace from Northampton having come to try the case.  One man said he had seen the defendant driving a white-faced calf up the mountain one night just after the stolen calf had been missed from the pasture.  The defendant intimated in no mild language that he must be a close blood relation to Ananias.  Hot words flew back and forth between judge, lawyers and witnesses, and it began to look as if the man in whose barn the calf was placidly munching was guilty.  Just then Russell, with a chuckle, slipped from the counter and disappeared through the back door.  In a minute he returned, and solemnly pushed a white-faced calf with a broken horn squarely among the almost fighting disputants.  There was a lull in the storm of angry words.  Here was the lost calf.  With a bawl of dismay and many gyrations of tail, it occupied the centre of the floor.  None could dispute the fact that it was the calf in question.  The defendant assumed an injured, innocent air, the plaintiff looked crestfallen.  Russell explained he had found the calf among his father’s cows.  But, knowing the true situation, he had enjoyed the heated argument too hugely to produce the calf earlier in the case.

The event caused much amusement among the neighbors.  Some said if they ever were hailed to court, they should employ Russell as their lawyer.  The women, when they dropped in to see his mother, called him the little lawyer.  The boyish ambition to be a minister faded.  Once more he went to building castles in Spain, but this time they had a legal capstone.