There was a protracted meeting at a place called Hickman’s Mill, Jackson County, Missouri.  The minister was gray haired and belonged to the Christian or Disciples church, the one my father belonged to.  I was at this time ten years old and went with my father to church on Lord’s Day morning.  At the close of the sermon, and during the invitation, my father stepped to the pulpit and spoke to the minister and he looked over in my direction.  At this I began to weep bitterly, seemed to be taken up, and sat down on the front bench.  I could not have told any one what I wept for, except it was a longing to be better.  I had often thought before this that I was in danger of going to the “Bad place,” especially I would be afraid to think of the time that I should see Jesus come.  I wanted to hide from Him.  My father had a cousin living at Hickman’s Mill, Ben Robertson.  His wife, cousin Jennie, came up to me at the close of the service, and said:  “Carry, I believe you know what you are doing.”  But I did not.  Oh, how I wanted some one to explain to me.  The next day I was taken to a running stream about two miles away, and, although it was quite cold and some ice in the water, I felt no fear.  It seemed like a dream.  I know God will bless the ordinance of baptism, for the little Carry that walked into the water was different from the one who walked out.  I said no word.  I felt that I could not speak, for fear of disturbing the peace that is past understanding.  Kind hands wrapped me up and I felt no chill.  I felt the responsibility of my new relation and tried hard to do right.

A few days after this I was at my aunt Kate Doneghy’s.  Uncle James, or “Jim,” we called him, her husband, was not a Christian.  He shocked me one day by saying:  “So those Campbellites took you to the creek, and soused you, did they ’Cal’?” (A nick name.) What a blow!  My aunt seemed also shocked to have him speak thus to me.  I left the room and avoided meeting him again.  How he crushed me!  It had the effect to make me feel like a criminal.

The Protestant Church here makes a fatal error which the Catholics avoid.  The ministers of the latter have all young converts come so often to them for instruction.  A child may be born, but not being nursed and fed, it will die.  God has command them to be fed in the sincere milk of the word.  My greatest hindrance has been from the lack of proper Christian teaching.  I love the memory of my father, he used to have me read the bible to him, and while I did not enjoy it then, it is a blessed memory.  The family altar is essential to the welfare of every home, no other form of discipline is equal to it.  The liberty, chivalry, and life of a nation live or die in proportion as the Altar fires live or die.

“And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house and when thou walkest by the way and when thou liest down and when thou risest up.”