Such was the site Martin Conwell chose for a home, a site that told something of his own character; that had marked influence on the family that grew up in the little farmhouse.

A mixture of the practical, hard common sense of New England and the sympathetic, poetic temperament of the South was in this young New England farmer—­the genial, beauty-loving nature of his Southern father, the rigid honesty, the strong convictions, the shrewd sense of his Northern mother.  Quiet and reserved in general, he was to those who knew him well, kind-hearted, broad-minded, fun-loving.  He not only took an active interest in the affairs of the little mountain community, but his mind and heart went out to the big problems of the nation.  He grappled with them, sifted them thoroughly, and having decided what to him was the right course to pursue, expressed his convictions in deed as well as word.  His was no passive nature.  The square chin denoted the man of will and aggression, and though the genial mouth and kindly blue eyes bespoke the sympathetic heart, they showed no lack of courage to come out in the open and take sides.

The young wife, Miranda Conwell, shared these broader interests of her husband.  She came from central New York State and did not have that New England reserve and restraint that amounts almost to coldness.  Her mind was keen and vigorous and reached out with her husband’s to grasp and ponder the higher things of life.  But the beauty of her character lay in the loving, affectionate nature that shone from her dark eyes, in the patient, self-sacrificing, self-denying disposition which found its chief joy in ministering to her husband and children.  Deeply religious, she could no more help whispering a fervent little prayer, as she tucked her boys in bed, that the Father above would watch over and protect them, than she could help breathing, her trust in God was so much a part of her nature.  Such a silent, beautiful influence unconsciously permeates a child’s whole character, moulding it, setting it.  Unconscious of it at the time, some day a great event suddenly crystalizes it like a wonderful chemical change, and the beauty of it shines evermore from his life.  Miranda Conwell built better than she knew when in the every-day little things of her life, she let her faith shine.

Not a usual couple, by any means, for the early 40’s in rugged New England.  Yet their unusualness was of a kind within every one’s reach.  They believed the making of a life of more importance than the making of a living, and they grasped every opportunity of those meagre days to broaden and uplift their mental and spiritual vision.  Martin Conwell’s thoughts went beyond his plow furrow, Miranda’s further than her bread-board; and so the little home had an atmosphere of earnest thought and purpose that clothed the uncarpeted floors and bare walls with dignity and beauty.

CHAPTER II