I have written this book, mainly to share with you some of the wonderful and unpredictable incidents that happened to me and my family through the years.

My parents were Peter and Regina Albrecht and I was one of thirteen children, a twin.

These stories took place mostly in Forestburg, Alberta where I was born and where my parents were some of the first settlers.

I hope you, my children, my grandchildren and my wonderful friends will enjoy reading these true happenings, as much as I have enjoyed writing about them.

When I was a young girl of thirteen years, I had a job to do. Each afternoon around 4 p.m., I would ride our pony Nellie and bring the cows home to milk.

To me this was the best job I could have, for I loved to ride horseback. But mainly, I just loved to be alone, riding through the wide open spaces, day dreaming. Sometimes I was a beautiful princess and suitors were fighting for my hand, and other times I would be lost in a desert with no water in sight, and my prince charming would come to my rescue. What an imagination I had.

One day my Pa bought a new pony at the auction sale in Forestburg. She was a beautiful brown color, and very high spirited. Her name was Fly, and for a very good reason, as you will soon see.

A few days after Pa brought Fly home, I was getting ready to go for the cows, when my sister Laura remarked, "I want to go with you to get the cows. Why don't you ride Fly, and I'll ride Nellie." "All right," I said flippantly. So we bridled up the horses and jumped on their bare backs and to my utter amazement, Fly took off like a shot, leaving Laura far behind.

I gave Fly full reign because this was something I had never experienced before in my life. Now I knew why they called this horse "Fly", for she seemed to be flying into space.

Like a flash I passed the Lehman girls with a horse and buggy, going home from picking wild strawberries. I'm sure they were surprised to see me going so fast. I was now passing the field where my Pa and his crew of men were threshing the wheat. They all stopped their work to watch me go whizzing by. I was nearly bursting with pride as I raised my hand high, and yelled, "Yoooo-hooooo." They just stood there dumbfounded.

I rode for about one eighth of a mile, before I had to make a turn to the right. I pulled on the reigns and Fly made the turn all right, but I flew straight ahead and landed in a heap on the road. I looked back to see if the threshers had seen me. Well they saw me all right, for they all raised their hats and yelled, "Yooooo hooooo."

Yes my balloon of pride had burst, and right then and there I vowed I would ride Fly home, so I walked to the end of the field where the cows were grazing. And luck was surely with me, for there stood Fly with her foot caught in the bridle, shaking like a leaf. Very cautiously I walked up to Fly, and spoke words of comfort while I was nervously patting her. I said a quick prayer for my safety. I got on her back.

The ride back home with the cows was entirely different to the one I had just encountered.

I was trembling as we passed the threshers, and hoping they wouldn't yell, "Yoooo-hoooo" again for fear of spooking the pony. When my Pa and the threshers came in for supper that night, Pa scolded me for getting on a horse that was dangerous to ride. He said I could have been killed and I had to agree with him, for I now realized that she was a runaway horse. We later learned that Fly was indeed dangerous, and that she had killed a man before we owned her. She also ran away with my brother Loui, when he was driving a cutter. She went through a barbwire fence with Loui, cutter and all. Fortunately Loui wasn't hurt.

Yes, pride does come before a fall.

I believe God taught me a valuable lesson that day. My attitude changed from a proud show-off to a very humble and thankful thirteen year old.

How well I do remember the day my Pa came crawling on his hands and knees to the kitchen door of our huge farmhouse, gasping for breath.

Ma and the children were all concerned and helped him to his bed. He managed to tell Ma that the tractor had kicked him while he was cranking it.

Ma told my brother George to call the doctor at Galahad which was seven miles away from our home, but the doctor said he wouldn't venture out on a night like this, as there was a snow blizzard on.

Ma told George to offer to get him with a sleigh and team, but the doctor blankly refused to come. So Ma told George to phone the doctor at Strome which was sixteen miles away. George phoned the doctor, and he said he would be there with his horse and cutter in about an hour.

I was about ten years old at the time, and just worried sick about my Pa. I thought he was going to die. I crawled behind the cook stove and sat very still wondering what was going to happen to my Pa. Would the doctor come in time? I prayed silently that my Pa wouldn't die.

Well, the doctor was as good as his word, for in about one hour he was there, and walked briskly to the bedroom where my Pa was fighting for his life. It was discovered that Pa had 3 broken ribs which impaired his breathing. The first thing the doctor did was bandage his chest up tight, which miraculously took the pressure from his lungs, and relieved his breathing.

Isn't God wonderful for hearing and answering the prayer of a little ten year old?

On this particular day on the old homestead 3 miles south of Forestburg Alberta, our Pa was splitting wood and beside him stood my brother Loui, a little barefoot boy of approximately three years old. Loui watched intently as every fall of Pa's axe split another piece of wood from the block. It all looked so easy to do as Loui hopefully asked, "Can I split some wood? Can I Pa, please Pa?"

"No you certainly cannot," Pa answered quite sharpey as he noticed Loui's bare feet, "and if I catch you trying to split wood I'll give you a good licking, do you hear me?" "Yes," Loui answered meekly for he knew good and well what a licking meant. Pa and Ma didn't run to some child care book to see what to do when a child did wrong. They believed in that good old adage of "Spare the rod and spoil the child".

For every armful of wood Pa carried in the house, Loui was right there beside him carrying his armful as well which consisted of two sticks. Sometimes he would try and carry three sticks, but it just didn't seem to work too well. He would take a few steps and the top stick would fall off and Pa would say, "No, no son, that's a lazy man's load," meaning, you were too lazy to make two trips, so you carried it all in one.

After the wood was all carried in, Pa and Ma were in the kitchen. Loui kept thinking about how he would like to split wood, but then he also thought about what Pa had said, and he certainly didn't want to get a licking. Still he thought, "Maybe they won't find out." So he sneaked out to the wood-pile and with much effort, put a chunk of wood on the chopping block. Then he picked up the axe and, my it was heavy for such a little boy, for he could hardly raise it above his head. Then down came the axe, hitting the corner of the wood which fell to the ground.

Loui sighed deeply and went to the tedious task of picking the wood up again and placing it on the block. It seemed so easy when Pa was splitting the wood.

Once more, lifting the axe high above his head and coming down with it, the axe seemed to gain momentum, and it was Loui who lost his balance and fell almost on top of the axe.

By now he was such a discouraged little fellow that he didn't know if he should quit or try once more. He was almost in tears as he sat pondering his next move. But then he gritted his teeth, stood up straight, and took a deep breath. Then, raising the axe high above his head, and pin pointing the wood he was about to split, he came down heavily with the axe, missing his target completely and hitting of all things his big toe. Loui didn't think of anything, but his bleeding toe as he ran screaming into the house. Ma picked him up and looked at the injured toe, carefully putting salve and bandage on it, all the while whispering words of comfort such as, "There, there my little man everything will be alright."

When the toe was all bandaged up and the crying had stopped, Pa asked Loui, "How did you cut your toe son?" Loui's eyes were wide and scared looking as he realized the impact of the question. This called for some fast thinking. Again Pa questioned, "Come on boy, how did you cut your toe?" "Wwell," Loui stuttered and then rushing out with the words he cried, "I was sitting under a tree and a piece of glass fell out of the tree and hit my big toe."

Well, Pa knew perfectly well that glass doesn't ordinarily fall out of trees. And I don't think Loui got his promised licking, but I'm sure Pa explained to Loui about being obedient as well as truthful, and in the days ahead, his bandaged toe was a constant reminder of the price he was paying for not being obedient. Our heavenly Father, too, wants us to trust and obey him.

Do you know why Pa didn't want Loui to split wood? Its because Pa loved Loui very much and he didn't want to see him get hurt. And so it is with Jesus he knows what is best for us, because He loves us.

This little incident happened to me in grade three at the Forestburg Alberta school., It was inthe noon hour and I found myself alone in the large school room. "Oh now would be my chance", I thought. I could write on the blackboard." I went to pick up a piece of chalk and right there before my eyes was a red piece of chalk. I had never seen red chalk before and the thought struck me that I could make my cheeks red and everyone will say, "My isn't she pretty? Isn't she beautiful." Well I rubbed the red chalk on my cheeks real hard, and sat down in my desk. Just then the bell rang, and everyone came rushing into the room, taking their seats. Did I say I wanted everyone to look at me? Well they were looking alright and snickering and pointing their fingers at me. The teacher was busy looking at some papers on her desk, and when she looked up and saw my red cheeks, she pointed her long bony finger at me and shouted, "You get right down to that washroom and look in the mirror above the sink!" I caught my breath and took a step backwards for I looked simply terrible. No wonder they laughed at me with two bright red blotches on my cheeks. I started to wash the red chalk from my cheeks, but it didn't all come off, and when I went back into the school room, the teacher said, "You still have some red chalk on your cheeks, but you can get the rest off when you get home."

At home I washed my cheeks with soap and water, but they were still red, so my sister Kay helped me scrub them with a fingernail brush.

My cheeks were sore from scrubbing them, in fact I had red cheeks for two weeks, and my Ma put salve on them to sooth the hurt.

I really learned a good lesson from all of this, for my mother explained to me that it isn't how we look on the outside, that makes us beautiful, but what is in our hearts.

When my brother Oscar was about ten years old, his job was to keep the woodbox full everyday.

Oscar had saved up pennies, and the first chance he had he went to town and with his nickel, he bought some chewing gum. When he came home all the other kids begged him for some chewing gum. "Can I have some? Can I have some please?" They asked, but Oscar reminded them that he had bought the gum with his very own money, and why didn't they buy their own chewing gum?

Gum was a real treat at home, which we seldom had. Sometimes we would chew wheat until it turned into gum, so you can see that Oscar didn't want to part with his precious gum.

Now Loui wanted some gum so much that he said to Oscar, "I'll fill your woodbox for you, if you give me a stick of gum."

Oscar thought that was a good idea so he said, "All right, but be sure and fill it right to the top."

Loui filled to the very top, and Oscar was enjoying his gum to the fullest. He was chewing on one stick of gum, and it tasted so good that he put another stick of gum into his mouth. He chewed that for awhile, until the sweetness was all gone, and then he put another stick of gum into his mouth, relishing each chew and smacking his lips.

His mouth was pretty full by now but he put another stick into his mouth at once, and I just hate to tell you this, but do you know what Oscar did then? He put that last stick of gum into his mouth. Wasn't that a terrible thing to do? That was the stick of gum he had promised to Loui for filling his wood box.

Well Loui came into the house, and asked Oscar for his stick of gum, and Oscar with his mouth so full, he could hardly speak said, "I dot it all in my mouf."

Well needless to say Loui was furious, and he shouted, "You cheat, you promised me a stick of gum if I filled your wood box. Well, just for that I'm going to carry the wood all out again." And that is exactly what he did right to the very last stick. When Pa came home and saw the empty woodbox, he asked Oscar why the woodbox wasn't full, and Oscar promptly replied, "It was full Pa, but Loui carried it all out again."

Pa, without any further ado put Loui over his knee and spanked him. Wasn't Oscar so naughty for not keeping his promise? Oscar should have explained to Pa why Loui carried the wood all out again, and I think he should have got the spanking instead of Loui.

The truth was told to Pa after. I'm sure Jesus wants us to be honest and always keep our promise.

When we were eight years old and in grade three, my twin and I started to play basketball in the school recess hours. My, what fun we had bouncing it and throwing the ball to make a basket.

We practiced every chance we had, but still that wasn't enough. I thought, if only we could have a basketball at home, we could practice in our spare time.

With this thought in mind, I ran to get the big Eatons catalogue and, turning the pages excitedly, I found the basketballs.

I picked out the cheapest one I could find, but my hopes were shattered, for the price of it was forty-nine cents and I only had a few pennies to my name.

Well I decided right then and there, that I would start to save my money for that basketball.

Every chance I had I would earn a few pennies. At last I had forty nine cents and with the help of a grown up, I was able to order my basketball.. I made out the order to T. Eaton and Co., Ltd. My Pa mailed it for me, and every day I would ask if my parcel came, and it was so disappointing when they would say "No parcel today." It seemed I just couldn't wait for that parcel to come. In fact I was getting worried, I thought that they weren't going to send it at all.

After waiting almost two whole weeks my Pa came home from town and holding a parcel high above his head he asked, "Whose parcel is this?" Running wildly to my Pa I cried, "It's mine, it's mine?" And sure enough it had my name right on it.

I just couldn't contain myself. I wanted to shout with joy. I tore open the parcel and I expected to see a big round basketball. What was wrong? And then I saw they had sent me a balloon to be placed in the ball and then blown up. Hurriedly I did this, blowing up the balloon with all my might. Do you know what happened? I hate to tell you about it, my balloon had burst, yes it really burst. Do eight year olds cry? I think they do, at least I'm pretty sure that I did. I was heart broken. Well, I went and found a pencil and paper and I sat right down and wrote a letter to T. Eaton and Company Limited, and here is what it said:

I am jist 8 yers old and I saved up 49 sents for a long time so I could git yor baskit ball and I got it and I bloo it up big and it broc. Wood you send me a noo baloon plees? I am yor frend

My Pa mailed my letter with a 2 cent stamp and in no time at all, my parcel came and can you guess what was in it? There was a basketball, a balloon and 49 cents, and you may be sure that a little 8 year old, thanked Jesus when she said her prayers that night.

Have you ever held a fluffy little baby chick in your hand, and held it up to your cheek? It is so soft, isn't it?

God made lovely chickens. Just imagine he made all the different kinds of animals. He made everything that is in this whole wide world.

One day when I was a little girl, we had a hen that was setting. That means she was sitting on her eggs to keep them warm, for in each egg there was a tiny baby chicken, and it takes 21 days to hatch out baby chickens.

I used to go with my Ma to gather eggs. Sometimes we would get over 100 eggs a day. My mother pointed to the hen that was setting, and she said, "Don't take the eggs from this mother hen, because she's a setting hen, and she may peck you."

The setting hen would turn her eggs each day, so that her baby chickens would be healthy and strong when they came out of the eggs.

Every day I would run out to the chicken coop to see if the mother hen was still sitting on the eggs. I could hardly wait until the eggs were hatched.

Then one day the mother hen was gone from her nest, and there was nothing left, but broken egg shells. Then I heard some chirping. And there in the yard was the mother hen with fifteen little yellow baby chickens all chirping at once. Oh how I wanted to pick up a baby chicken and touch it to my cheek. But my mother cautioned me saying "Don't go near those baby chicks, the mother hen doesn't want you to touch them." I watched them from a distance, and more than ever, I just wanted to hold in my hand that fluffy little chick. One day I had finished my supper before the rest of the family, so I thought, "Now is my chance." I slipped unnoticed out of the house, and there in the yard was the mother hen with all of her chirping baby chicks.

I tiptoed ever so softly near the mother hen. She was trying to get her brood out of the way, but they were scattering in all directions. I picked one fluffy yellow chick up and quick as a flash, that mother hen fluffed up her feathers and flew right in the back of my neck. I screamed and dropped the baby chick. My mother came running of the house saying "I told you she didn't want you to touch her baby chicks." My Ma stood on the porch with a twinkle in her eye, and her hand over her mouth. Was that a smile she was hiding?

When my brothers George and Loui, were young, they used to follow Pa all around the farm, and sometimes they had to run to catch up, because Pa took such big steps.

They loved to watch Pa milk the cows or shovel wheat, or get the hay in the hay loft with a team of horses and a pulley, but on this particular day Pa was doing something else that they had never seen him do before. They were very curious and George asked, "What are you doing Pa?" And I imagine Pa answered, "Well son I'm greasing the machinery."

George and Loui were both fascinated as they watched our Pa grease the machinery with a large pail of axle grease.

"How come you're putting that stuff on Pa?" Loui asked. "So it will run better," Pa answered, matter of factly. "Will it really run better if you grease it? Will it Pa?" "Yes," Pa answered, "anything runs better when you grease it George."

"Can we help you grease the mach - mach can we help grease the stuff Pa, can we Pa?" Loui begged." "Can we Pa?" George chirped. "Well boys, " Pa said, "I'm afraid you're pretty young for this job. Maybe when you're a bit older you can help me," and he added, "Now I'm going out in the field and I want you two boys to stay out of mischief, and keep out of my tool shed. Yesterday you pounded a whole bunch of nails into a block of wood and I spent almost an hour looking for my hammer, so you stay out of there. Hear me?"

"Yes, Pa," they both answered and as they saw Pa go out into the field, George said "Aw there's nothing to do here today, we can't even go into the tool shed."

"Hey," cried Loui, "maybe we can grease something. Why don't we George?" "Because", George answered with superiority, "Pa greased everything."

Then Loui noticed some chickens running in the yard, and his face lit up with glee. "Hey George we could grease the chickens." Now George was really disgusted with Loui and he remarked, "Of all the silly things to say. You don't grease chickens." "Well," retorted Loui, "Pa said anything would run better if you greased it, didn't he say that George?" George scratched his head and thought a moment. "Yes, he said that all right, he sure did". So do you know what those two little rascals did? They started chasing chickens all over the yard to catch them and put grease on them.

I don't know how many chickens they greased, but when Pa came home he noticed that some of chickens had grease on them, so he went in the house and asked Ma "What have George and Loui been doing today?" Ma answered, "I don't know Pa, I can't keep my eyes on them every minute of the day. The twins seem to take up quite a bit of my time but coming to think of it, I did see George and Loui running up and down the yard. Why Pa, why do you ask?" "Well," Pa answered, "Some of the chickens have axle grease on them."

Then Pa called George and Loui, and asked them, how come some of the chickens had grease on them. George answered hesitatingly, "Cause we greased them Pa." "Yes Pa," chirped Loui "we greased them for you."

Pa looked exasperated and almost shouted "What in the world ever gave you a foolish notion like that?" By now George and Loui were almost in tears as George answered meekly, "We greased them Pa so they'd run better." and Loui quickly added, "Yes Pa, remember this morning you said anything would run better if you greased it?"

Pa had sort of a helpless look on his face as he explained to George and Loui that chickens shouldn't be greased.

So you see even grown ups have to be careful what they say.

God understands, even though we may do foolish things, such as greasing chickens, he loves us all the same.

I am thankful to God for such a wonderful childhood. One of my favorite memories is about our old grey tom cat.

We had a great big barn and one of the chores we had to do was milk the cows around 5 o'clock each evening. Pa and the boys would milk them in the morning.

We kept a hayloft full of hay for the cattle and horses to eat, so we also had to have some cats to keep the mice down. Well, our mother cat had four of the sweetest fluffy kittens you ever saw. And we also had a big grey tom cat, which I didn't like at all, as you will soon see why.

After milking the first of about ten cows each night, I would put milk into the big pie plate and all the cats would come running, and as soon as the tom cat would come to drink the milk, the little kittens would slink back terrified. So I would get up from my milking and throw the tom cat out the barn door. And the minute I would sit down again to milk, in would come that grey tom cat to chase the cats and kittens away and drink the milk all by himself.

Furiously, I would get up again to throw the tom cat out, threatening what I would do to him, if he came back. I even complained to Pa, "Do we have to have that mean old tom cat around? Why can't we get rid of him?"

Pa said that the tom cat was a good mouser, and besides we have plenty of milk to spare with ten cows milking. So you can see I had to put up with the grey tom cat every day, which didn't make me very happy.

One day something happened. I was upstairs in my room, when I heard Pa's voice downstairs saying to Ma, "A horse stepped on our grey tom cat and he is dragging his hind quarters. I'm afraid I'll have to shoot him."

I acted on impulse. I practically flew downstairs and begged my Pa "Don't shoot him Pa, please don't shoot him. Don't shoot the grey tom cat." I cried. Pa shook his head and answered, "I have no choice, I have to put him out of his misery."

"Please Pa," I pleaded, " I'll look after him, I promise. Only don't shoot him Pa, I'll take good care of him, I really will."

My Pa looked at me and I know he understood my feelings, because he said, "Well all right, I won't shoot him, but I don't think he's going to live." The first thing I did was run out to the barn as fast as I could to find the grey tom cat. He was laying in a corner licking his wounds. I stroked his head tenderly, all the while whispering words of comfort such as, "There, there, don't you worry, everything is going to be all right poor kitty."

I quickly ran and found a large cardboard box and put some old woolen sweaters in the bottom of it. How was I ever going to lift him up when he was hurting so much? Very tenderly, I picked him up, all the while talking to him. I laid him gently in the soft bed I had prepared for him, and then I placed the box in an empty manger we weren't using.

I gave him some nice warm milk. I took care of my tom cat and each day he became stronger till finally one day he could walk on all four legs. Oh, his hind legs were a bit shaky all right, but it didn't take long after, that he was walking and running too. But somehow my tom cat was different now. He was more meek and lowly. I wondered about that tom cat, and about myself too. Why did I treat him different than I did before? And then I realized that this was a different situation. You see, when the tom cat was well and strong, he also was arrogant, selfish and mean. But after he was hurt he needed help desperately, and I could help him and be his friend. I saved him from dying, he became well and strong again, and so it is with God and his children. As long has we are arrogant, proud, selfish and mean, we think we don't need God. But when we are meek and lowly and have a desperate need, he gently picks us up and gives us life. I want Jesus to look after me, don't you?

When I was a young girl, there was at least one thing that I could do well, and that was running races. Our Pa would get us all out in the yard after supper and we'd stand in a row and Pa would say "One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready and four to go." We ran as fast as we could. As I said before, I was a fast runner so I would win the race.

One time when I was eight years old, we were running races at a Sunday school picnic and they announced that they were going to have a race for any age. Men and women, boys and girls, whoever wanted could enter, and it was to be run around a haystack, making the complete run about ¼ of a mile long.

We were all standing in a row, when Mr. Howsen an elderly retired school teacher came up to me and whispered in my ear, "It's a long race so start out slow at first, and speed up at the last." I nodded my head, "yes" and then my Pa came and whispered in my ear, "go slow at first and speed up at last." Well I didn't take their advice. I kept ahead every step of the way.

When I was in grade eight at school, I won the shield on a sports day. This included running, broad jump, high jump, discus throwing and pole vaulting and, last but not least, basketball. Hazel Hagen, who was a grade twelve student, won the same amount of points that I had, which was eighteen. To decide which one was the winner, the teachers had us run a race. A friend of the grade twelve student asked me to let her friend Hazel win the race, because it meant so much to her, but I replied, "Whoever wins will win." I came in first in the race and won the shield.

My teacher Olga Banks asked Frank Patterson and Austin Banks to have a race with me. They laughed, "Ha ha, we could beat her any day." We ran the race and I won. I guessed it hurt their pride to have a girl beat them at running.

One day a man came from Strome which was about sixteen miles north of Forestburg, Alberta. He talked very confidentially to my Pa about me. He wanted me to practice running and broad jump for the provincial meet in Edmonton, Alberta.

I was so excited I could hardly contain myself, I thought I would become famous some day. Maybe even world famous. I hurried through my supper and you can be sure I was too excited to be hungry. I wanted to go outside and practice. I had won many prizes broad jumping, so I thought I would practice. I took one jump and do you know what happened? I sprained my ankle. I knew right then that I couldn't enter in the provincial meet at Edmonton.

I often think of that day that perhaps changed my whole life. Maybe if I had become famous, I wouldn't be a Christian.

Yes, I believe God sometimes allows things to happen to stop us from doing things that would lead us on the wrong path.

I don't know if I would have become famous or not, but I do know this much, that I would rather know Jesus, than have the whole world know me.

One day my sister Kay was looking after us, while our Ma was away for the day. Kay gathered us around in a circle and said, "I have a treat for you today. I made some candy and if you work real hard today, I'll give you each a piece of chocolate fudge, and it is so good."

Kay looked at all of us and there was Gladys, Oscar, Esther, Laura, La Verne and myself. Kay noticed that one was missing and she asked, "Where is Frances?" Someone said, "She's upstairs, sick in bed."

Now Kay was always concerned if anyone was sick, and she said, 'Oh my, let's go and see how she is." So we all marched upstairs to see Frances. She was laying in bed and looking quite sick. Kay asked, "What's the matter Frances?" And Frances cried with a painful look on her face, "I'm sick." "Oh, you poor thing. Where does it hurt?" Kay asked, and with a groan Frances answered, "On my stomach." Immediately Kay pulled the covers off Frances and do you know what she saw? There right on France's stomach was the pie plate of chocolate fudge half eaten.

Then without any hesitation whatsoever or which in any matter, shape or form, Kay pulled Frances out of bed shouting, "You stealer, you stole my candy and it serves you right if you're sick for eating so much." God says we shouldn't take things that don't belong to us, and it hurts him when we disobey.

This story happened many years ago out on our big farm at Forestburg, Alberta. Pa sent Laura, Esther and me to pick mustard out of the wheat field. It was easy to see the mustard, as the flower is yellow.

We worked for a while, but I'm sure we did more playing and talking than working. At least we came to the far side of the 40 acres and we realized that we were not too far from the Thurn place. Lydia Thurn was a very good friend of mine, and she also was going with my brother Loui. "Say," said Esther, "let's go over to Thurns place and play with Lydia." "That's a good idea," said Laura and I agreed. So we went to Thurns' and Lydia took us to her bedroom and showed us her brand new dress and new shoes. We were impressed because very seldom did we get a new dress or shoes. Mostly they were hand me downs. "How come you get so many new things and we don't?" we asked. "Well", said Lydia "its because there are so many in your family, and there are only two girls and two boys in our family." And we agreed that could be the answer.

We stayed about an hour, and then decided it was time to go home, but Mrs. Thurn said "Wait girls, and I'll give you some radishes for your mother." "Oh no", we quickly said, "we don't need any radishes." We realized that if we brought home radishes, Ma and Pa would know that we had gone to Thurns, when we were supposed to be picking mustard out of the wheat field. But Mrs. Thurn insisted that we take the radishes home, as she handed us a large bag of radishes all washed clean.

We wondered what we were going to do with the radishes. "I know, " I said "let's eat them." And we did. We ate them all gone. The next Sunday who do you think was over for dinner? Why the Thurns, of course and Mrs. Thurn asked our Ma how she liked the radishes. Ma asked, "What radishes?" And Mrs. Thurn said, "Why, the radishes I sent home with Laura and the twins."

Our Ma looked real puzzled and replied, "Why, I didn't get any radishes. What did you girls do with them?"

All eyes were turned on us and with red faces we had some explaining to do. I'm certain we were all sorry for being naughty, and isn't it wonderful that God forgives us for things we do wrong if we only ask him?

Yes, honesty is the best policy. As I look back across the years, I am reminded of an incident that took place in grade school. My teacher was Olga Banks and honesty was her motto.

My best subjects were arithmetic, grammar, art and composition, but my worst subjects were history and geography.

Well we had a history test, and after the papers were tested and given back to us, my paper said 37%. I was ashamed and wondered why I couldn't do better on the test. Then my teacher announced that she forgot to put down our marks in her record book. So she told us to have our papers open on our desk and she would walk down the aisle and write down our marks. She read our marks out loud to see if she had them correct and when she read my mark, she said 73% instead of 37%. What a temptation that was to let everybody think that I had 73% in my test, but somehow I didn't feel right about it. I felt I must tell the truth, so when the bell rang at recess, I went up to my teacher and said, "Miss Banks, I really didn't get 73%, I got 37%." She smiled and thanked me for being so honest. Somehow, when I look back over the years, I wonder if she wasn't testing my honesty.

This story happened years ago on a day when Pa and Ma were in town shopping. I was about 8 years old and my brother Vic took me by the hand and said, "Come with me. I want you to hold the sack of wheat on the little red wagon steady, while I pull it to the barn."

He had to practically drag me, for I didn't want to help him and I said, "You can't make me help you, you're not my boss."

He finally dragged me to where the little red wagon was, but I just stood there pouting. Vic said, "Now all you have to do is just hang on to the sack of wheat, while I pull it to the barn. I don't want the wheat to tip over." But I was pretty stubborn that day as I said, "You can't make me do that, you're not my boss." By now my brother Vic was getting very annoyed with me. "Hang on to that sack of wheat I tell you, it's not that hard to do. Don't be so stubborn." But I said, "No". Then he pushed me toward the little red wagon, and I fell right over on a nail that was sticking up. It started bleeding real bad, and Vic said he would give me a nickel if I wouldn't tell. I ran to the house and washed and bandaged my ankle. Our Ma never did find out about my sore ankle. I guess there were so many in our family at home, that Ma couldn't notice everything that happened. I realize now that I was naughty. Vic is a good big brother to have.

God wants us to be willing to help our brothers and sisters cheerfully. I still have that scar on my ankle, and it reminds me of how stubborn I was and I'm sorry. Isn't it wonderful that Jesus forgives us when we ask him?

When I was a little girl, I used to go into my Ma's closet and look at her pretty dresses. There was one that I especially liked. It was a long rich green satin dress. I would feel the heavy material and wished that some day I would have one like it.

One day when Pa and Ma were away, a knock came on the door. Kay, who was about 15 years old, answered the door to find some gypsies there. We had never seen people dressed like that and I'm sure it frightened us. They asked for food and Kay gave them some bread and any food that was in sight, hoping to get rid of them.

Then they picked up the butcher knife from the counter top. This frightened Kay, and she cried, "You can have that too!" The gypsies were smiling at each other as they pointed to their clothes and said, "Dress, dress." Kay quickly replied, "Oh yes, I'll get you some dresses," and she almost flew to Ma's clothes closet and grabbed a whole armful of Ma's dresses and gave them to the gypsies.

Happily, they left our home, relishing in their good fortune. Poor Kay, I'm sure she was relieved to see them go, and when Pa and Ma came home, Kay told them what happened. The very first thing Ma asked was, "You didn't give them my good green satin dress did you?" Without waiting for an answer, she rushed to her clothes closet and yes, the green satin dress was gone all right along with quite a few of her other dresses. Ma was sorry to lose so many dresses, but she didn't blame Kay, because she understood how frightened Kay must have been. It was very wrong for those gypsies to take advantage of a young girl of 15. Don't you think so?

However, we don't have to worry when God looks after us. In Matt 6:25 and 26 we read

"Take no thought for your life what ye shall eat or what he shall drink, nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat? And the body rainment.

Behold the fowls of the air, for they sow not, neither do they reap. Nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?"

So we should just trust in our heavenly Father, and He will take care of us. Isn't that nice to know? Do you know why he's like that? It's because He loves us, I'm glad, aren't you?

I guess I was playing with dolls as early as I can remember, and I was at least 12 years old when I stopped playing with them. My very favorite doll was one I received at Christmas time when I was around 10 years old. The doll was a rag doll and she had real baby clothes on. How I loved that doll!

Before my twin and I got those dolls, we used to pretend we were each pushing a buggy with babies in it. We walked all over the yard talking. What fun we had in our dream world.

One time, I remember we lay opposite each other in bed. I used Esther's foot for my baby and she used my foot for her baby and when either of us wiggled our toes, our foot was told, "Be quiet and go to sleep." One day my twin and I were playing at our friend's house. I remember she had so many dolls, there was even one hanging on the wall and dolls laying all over the back porch. Finally, the girl's mother called her in for supper, so we started to walk home. It was about one block away from our house. As we walked, I said to my twin, "My, don't they have a lot of dolls at their house?" Esther agreed and said, "I wish we could have some of those dolls." "I do too," I replied. "I'll bet if we took some of them, they wouldn't even miss them would they?"

"No," Esther answered. "And they even have one hanging on the wall, isn't that a shame. Maybe we should go back and get some of the dolls, should we?" "Yes," I quickly answered, "Lets go back and get some." We hurried back to our friend's house and picked up as many dolls as we could carry, not realizing the wrong we were doing. When we walked up to our house with all those dolls, our mother met us at the door and asked, "Where did you get all those dolls?" When we told our Ma, she quite sternly said, "Well you take them right back where you got them and don't ever do that again."

I believe that was our very first lesson to know that it was wrong to take things that didn't belong to us. I'm glad Ma corrected us for when children aren't corrected they usually grow up to break the laws of the land and very often end up in serious trouble.

Now I will tell you of another amusing little story that happened to me and my sisters when we were very young. Our Ma told us that if we ask Jesus for something, He will answer our prayers, and if it is God's will He will give it to us. One day after our Ma had finished a big wash, we went to the washroom where Ma kept the clothes hamper. We looked inside and it was empty. We decided that we would pray, and ask God to fill the hamper with dolls. We all knelt down to pray very earnestly, really believing that the hamper would be full of dolls. I must say we were disappointed when we opened the clothes hamper to find it empty.

One day our Ma was busy in the kitchen, and she asked Gladys to please get a pail of water. Gladys was quick to answer, "Why do I always have to carry all the water in? Why can't someone else do it for a change?" Ma calmly replied, "Now Gladys, I'll have no back talk. Just do as you're told and carry that water in. It's only a few steps from here." Our Ma was right, for we had a hand pump in the lean-to adjoining the house and besides Ma was very fair with her children, and certainly didn't have any favorites.

Gladys picked up the empty water pail and walked to the pump house. Finally she came back with only about 2 inches of water in it.

Now Ma didn't want only 2 inches of water, she wanted enough water to get the dinner, and she likely was in a hurry. So giving Gladys a smack on the place where she sits down, she told Gladys to go and get a pail of water.

Now Gladys, who was really pouting by this time, went out and not only pumped a pail of water, but made it so full that with each step Gladys took on the clean kitchen floor, the water spilled over. And with jerky steps she set the water pail on the stand in the corner by the kitchen stove leaving a trail of water behind her. Well you know what mothers are for. God gave children mothers so they could correct them. Now don't you think Gladys needed a spanking? I think so too, and you may be sure that she got a spanking with love. Gladys also had to mop up the water she spilled.

In Matt 10:42 it says, "...and whoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water, only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward." God promises us clear living water when we get to heaven.

I was 8 years old when I learned how to milk cows. My brother Oscar was 4 years old when he milked the cow we had in Freewater, Oregon. He was such a proud little boy to be able to help with the chores.

Pa and Ma moved back to Forestburg, Alberta and there we milked 10 or more cows. Pa and the boys would milk them in the morning and Oscar and my sisters and I would milk them in the evening. One fall during threshing time, Esther and I had 17 cows to milk. There were about 15 threshers to feed, so everyone had to share in the work.

One day our Pa brought a new cow home from the auction sale. Laura, Esther and I took our milk pails and went to the barn to milk the cows. After putting the cows in their stalls, we wondered who was going to milk the new cow. Laura and Esther didn't seem too anxious to milk her, and I said I would. Picking up the pail and stool, I sat down beside the new cow, and as I started to milk her. She kicked the pail right out of my hand, and the stool went flying. I have never in my life seen a cow kick like that, she just seemed to go wild. Esther and Laura asked, "You're not going back to milk her are you?" "Sure I am," I answered flippantly, but I'll have to admit I was scared. I certainly didn't want my sisters to know, so I picked up the pail and stool and said a quiet prayer, desperately hoping that the cow wouldn't kick me.

You know God even has control of the animals, if we ask him, because that new cow never kicked once. I want Jesus to look after me, don't you?

I have a twin, her name is Esther, when we were young we were very much the opposite from each other, for she was fair and I was dark. She was studious and I was a regular tom boy.

I remember in the morning our dresses would be clean and fresh, our hands and faces washed clean, hair combed and each of us wearing a broad smile. But when evening time came, my dress would be soiled, if not torn, and my hands and face dirty with perhaps a scratch or two added to the bruises I already had, while my twin would come into the house, looking almost identical to when she had left in the morning.

Secretly, I envied her, and would you believe this? When we grew up and each got married and went our separate ways, she confided in me one day saying, when we were kids she used to envy me. Well I told her the feeling was mutual. All the while we were growing up together, I don't remember once having a quarrel with my twin.

When visitors came to our place, we would run upstairs, but we needn't have bothered because invariably, we were called down for inspection. There we would stand in the middle of those strangers, and how well we knew what they were going to say, for it was always the same: "My, one is so dark and the other is so fair."

We were born June 11, 1916 at 12 o'clock noon. I was born first, and they handed me to my oldest sister Mabel, and 5 minutes later my twin was born, and she was handed to Viola. When were in grade 4, we had a brand new teacher, who didn't know Esther and I were twins. She asked each one in the class their name and age. When she came to Esther, my twin answered without hesitation, "My name is Esther Albright, and I am 9 years old." The new teacher then asked me and I answered "My name is Olive Albright and I am 9 years old." The teacher was confused, so she asked us when our birthdays were, to which we both replied, "June 11, 1916." I told her that we were twins and it was plain to see she didn't believe me, for I was skinnier than Esther and perhaps a bit taller, and my hair was auburn brown and my twin's was blonde. Again my teacher said to me, "Tell me honestly, how old are you?" This really confused me, for everyone was laughing and they all knew we were twins. I answered tearfully, "9 years old". That really made her angry and, stomping her foot severely, she almost shouted, "I'll have no more of this nonsense and playing games. Answer me straight, how much older are you than Esther?" With my face turning red I answered, "Oh about 5 minutes." That answer promptly stopped all her questioning.

So you see even grown-ups can make mistakes, but Jesus loves us anyway, and he is always ready to help us. Isn't it nice to have a friend like Jesus? I think so too.

Ever since my sister Frances could remember, she was fascinated when Ma mixed bread. She would try to put her finger in the dough, and hopefully ask, "Ma can I mix the bread?" Our Ma would answer, "No, you're not old enough. Maybe when you're bigger, I'll show you how."

Poor Frances watched Ma punch down the soft sponge dough, and give it an extra pat before she buttered the top of it and covered it with a clean white tea towel. I think Frances made up her mind right there and then, that she would mix bread the first chance she had.

One day Frances was alone, as Ma had gone to town and wouldn't be back for a few hours. This was very unusual, because when there are 13 children in the family you very seldom find yourself alone. Frances thought, "Oh boy, I'm alone. What will I do? Maybe I'll make some candy. Oh I know, I'll make some bread. I'll show them I can make bread. Every time I want to mix bread, Ma says, 'You're too young.' Well just wait until they taste my bread, they will say, 'Oh Frances how did you do it? It's so delicious.'"

Frances wasted no time in getting started. She got the big bread pan and proceeded to put water, yeast, and flour in it. Then holding up her hand she counted on her fingers, "Let's see there's water, yeast, flour, hmm what else does Ma put in the bread? Oh I know it's salt." So she reached in the glass jar and got a fist full of salt and then, stopping to think a minute, she quickly threw in another handful.

With a smile on her face, she plunged her hands in that soft grayness. "Oh," she beamed, "this is fun, I could do this all day, but I'd better hurry. Oh, dear I need more flour, and how am I going to get some with my hands full of dough?" Desperately, she tried to get the dough from her hands, "Oh dear," she thought, "why did I ever start this. It looked so easy when Ma mixed the bread." Getting panicky she reached in the flour bin bringing out as much flour as her two hands would hold. She did this a number of times spilling the flour each time, so you can imagine what the kitchen looked like. When Frances finally got the dough to the stage where it didn't stick to her hands, it was pretty lumpy. But she realized as she glanced at the clock that she didn't have too much time left before Ma came home, so she quickly put a clean white tea towel on top. Every minute she poked her finger in the dough to see if it was rising, but no it hadn't risen one little bit and she knew Ma would come home soon. I'm sure Frances panicked, for she grabbed the bread pan and ran out to the back yard. Next she got a shovel and dug a hole and buried the bread dough. She ran back to the kitchen and cleaned up the mess so not a telltale sign of flour could you see.

Finally Ma came home and asked Frances how things went and Frances said, "Alright." Ma didn't even suspect that Frances tried to make bread. A few days later Ma came into the kitchen really excited and said, "I want you all to come out in the back yard and see this thing, it looks like a mushroom." Ma put her finger in the bread dough and said, "This looks like bread dough. Then smelled it and said, "This smells like bread dough." She put it in her mouth and said, "This tastes like bread dough."

Ma gave Frances some words on obedience and truth, and also not to be wasteful, but I think the most valuable lesson Frances learned that day was that your sins will find you out.

God knows everything you do and you can't hide things from Him.

When I was about 6 years old we were living at Freewater, Oregon. We had just moved from a huge fruit farm to a very small house.

I had my doll with me, but couldn't find my doll clothes anywhere. My Ma had gone to town that morning and I was very disheartened because my dolly really did need her doll clothes. I almost gave up looking for them when I noticed a space above the cupboard. I climbed up on the counter and felt with my hand on top, but they weren't up there either. As I jumped down from the counter, my dress caught on a pail of milk that my brother had just brought from the barn, and down came the milk all over the floor. Well, I had spilled the milk so my brothers and sisters gave me a bad time saying, "Just wait till Ma gets home, you're really going to get a spanking." I was so worried about spilling all that milk, and about what my Ma would say, because I knew there was no more milk in the house until evening.

When Ma came home it wasn't long before she found out what had happened. And when she looked at my worried face, she patted my head and said, "Well I guess you'll have to go without milk for lunch, because there isn't any."

When I was a young girl of about 6 or 7, I just loved to sew. I would take a needle and thread and sew a doll dress, and that is how I learned to sew. By the time I was 8 or 9, I was sewing doll dresses for some of my sisters, while they did dishes for me and you can well bet, I would rather sew doll dresses than do dishes.

I remember when my twin and I were 12 years old, we had saved up our money and ordered some lovely material from Eatons catalogue. They were a tan crepe and a tan brown and white taffeta. When our parcel arrived, we showed it to our Ma and she was quite upset that we ordered such expensive material. I'm sure we didn't pay any more than $2.00 for it, enough material to make 2 dresses, for things were a lot cheaper in 1928 than they are now.

Our Ma said she was too busy to make the dresses just then, so we took the material upstairs and I cut the dresses out on the bed, without using a pattern. We used a dress that fit us to go by. We then took them down for our Ma to sew. She was absolutely shocked to think that we went ahead and cut into that lovely material. She said, "You can sew them yourself." We did and wore them to church. The next Sunday we got many compliments from women in church. Can you imagine cutting out dresses on a bed?

When I was 13 years old, I saw my father's fur coat hanging on a nail in the pump-house. It had been hanging there for years and I never had seen my Pa wear it. I reasoned with myself, "What good was it anyway why, I could make something out of it". As I was fingering the heavy black satin lining of the coat, the thought struck me that it would make a beautiful jacket for myself. We wasted no time in ripping out the lining, cutting the jacket out and sewing it up. My sister Laura gave me a compliment, when she asked me if she could wear the jacket to school. Of course I said, "Yes." I remember my sister Kay coming home and she saw what I had done and said, "You had better keep an eye on that girl Ma, next thing you know, she will have the curtains and drapes down and cut them up."

I realize now that I should have asked Ma if I could cut up the lining, but I also have a sneaking suspicion that she would have said, "No." I thank God that I had such loving parents. I'm pretty sure that I was reprimanded for cutting up the lining of the coat, but at the same time I think they understood.

I'm so glad God gave me a talent for sewing, because when I grew up and married, I had 8 children and it was very practical as well as enjoyable to be able to sew. I made all the girls' dresses. I had 3 boys and 5 girls, and I couldn't wait to get my house work done so I could sew. I loved every minute of it.

One fall in threshing time, which was the busiest time of the year, my Pa said to me, "Do you think I could trust you to haul a load of wheat to the elevator for me? We are pretty busy, and if you could help out I would really appreciate it." "Oh yes," I answered. "I'd love to do that for you."

So Pa hitched up the team of horses and cautioned, "Drive carefully and go straight to the elevator, and don't stop on the way." "Which elevator should I go to Pa?" Pa told me to go to Henry Lund's elevator. Henry Lund was my brother-in-law. I felt pretty important for a 15 year old to have such a responsible job to do, after all this was the very first time I had hauled wheat for my Pa.

I drove the 3 miles to Forestburg and then bursting with pride, I stopped to see my sister Vi. When I went to leave I could not turn the wagon around as it got caught in their fence. So my sister Vi phoned Henry to come from the grain elevator to turn the horses around. Henry tried to turn the horses around but he finally had to take part of the fence down so the horses could make the turn. Wasn't that terrible? All because I was proud as well as being disobedient.

In Proverbs 16:18 it says, "Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." I was really sorry for what I had done. God wants us to obey our parents.

That Loui, he's my brother you know. I will tell you what he used to do, but I don't think you're going to believe it. It's really true or I wouldn't be writing it down in this little book. He used to say, "If you're' strong, I'll be able to lift you up by your hair." We would stand in line and say, "Try me, I'm strong." Loui would lift us by the hair and if we would say, "Ouch!" or scream, he would quickly let us down and say, "No you're not strong," and would try the next one. They say there is a purpose for everything. Well the only purpose I can see in this little episode is that it really gave us a strong head of hair.

When I was around 14 years old, I used to go over to my sister's place to help her look after the children.

One day little Jessie, who was in grade 2 at school and just as sweet as she could be, came home and announced that the teacher wanted each one in her class to have a riddle for the next day. She told her mom that she didn't know any riddles, so Vi told her to ask her Aunt Olive if she knew some. When Jessie asked me I said, "Yes, I know some riddles. You can ask this: Why didn't Moses take bees into the ark? And the answer to that riddle is: Because Moses never had an ark, it was Noah. Or you can ask this riddle: Which is correct to say, the egg yolk is white or the egg yolk are white? And the answer to that is neither, the egg yolk is yellow."

The next day Jessie and her brother Ken came home from school and Ken said, "Mom, do you know what Jessie did in school today? They were all supposed to have a riddle, and when it was Jessie's turn, she went up to the front of the class and asked, 'Why didn't Moses take bees into the ark?' No one could guess the answer, so the teacher said, 'We give up, why didn't Moses take bees into the ark?' And Jessie, with a big smile answered, 'Neither, the egg yolk is yellow.'"

Aren't children wonderful? I'm sure that it was all my fault that Jessie got mixed up in the riddles. I should have only given Jessie one riddle to remember. However, I'm glad that it turned out the way it did or I wouldn't have this delightful little story to relate.

If Sam Cameron was born 1 minute after midnight on November 2, 1943 and Bobby Isbell was born 1 minute before midnight November 2, 1943, who is the oldest? Answer: Sam is 23 hours and 58 minutes older.

One Sunday when my friend Ruth Ruff and I were sitting in the back pew of the Baptist Church at Forestburg, Alberta, the preacher was preaching and I wondered what I could do for excitement. After thinking for a few minutes, I spied a piece of straw on the floor. I picked it up and wondered what I could do with it, and there in the pew in front of me was a thirteen year old boy who was very much overweight.

Suddenly, the thought occurred to me, "I wonder what would happen if I twirled this piece of straw on his ear." So without thinking too much of the consequences, I did just that and got the surprise of my life, for the boy let out a scream, and jumped about a foot in the air.

After that, there was a deadly silence and all eyes looked at the back of the church.

The preacher looked at Ruth and me and asked, "May I speak now?" I'm sure I would have never done that terrible thing had I realized what would happen. God wants us to sit quietly while we are in church.

La Verne was the youngest in our family of 13 children. There was one food she liked more than any other food and that was porridge.

One morning, my Pa was ready to say grace, and he noticed that La Verne wasn't at the table, and our Pa didn't want to ask the blessing till everyone was there. "Where's La Verne?" Pa asked. Ma said, "She's sleeping. Let her sleep, she's so little and needs the rest." La Verne was only 4 or 5 at the time, so Pa said the prayer and we all started to eat breakfast. We were almost finished, when La Verne came to the kitchen in her nightgown. The first thing she did was go to the porridge kettle and to her disappointment, all the porridge was gone. She looked at all of us accusingly, and cried, "You ate all the porridge, how come you ate it all?"

Ma jumped up and said, "There, there little one, I'll make you some more porridge, which she proceeded to do. When it was finished, she put some in a bowl for La Verne, but La Verne's feelings were hurt and she pouted, "You ate all my porridge, I'm not gonna eat any now."

Everyone was coaxing her to eat but she flatly refused. Finally, Pa got up from the table and motioned for George to "come here". He then whispered for George to go outside and knock at the door and pretend he was a policeman. Paw went to the phone and said, "Hello, is this the police station? This is Peter Albright and I have a little girl here who won't eat her porridge. Could you come to our place? Yes, goodbye."

Now everyone was coaxing La Verne to eat her porridge, but she refused. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. Pa answered it, and a loud gruff voice asked, "Is there a little girl here who won't eat her porridge?"

Well our little La Verne started eating her porridge just as fast as she could and to this very day she still likes her porridge every morning. I'm so glad God gave us a sister like La Verne, because (most of the time) she was very happy and sweet and we all loved her, and still do.

It is a known fact that my sister Laura could hum a tune before she could even talk, and when very young, all she would have to do is just hear a tune and she was able to sit down at the piano and play it.

I used to envy her and wonder, "Why can't I play like that?" So I would sit down at the piano every chance I had, and start playing. Of course, I thought my playing wasn't too bad until I heard my Ma call from the kitchen, "I wish you would stop that jangling, it's getting on my nerves." However, I didn't feel too bad, because some of my other sisters and brothers would get the same results.

How well I do remember the parcels we received from our sister, Mabel, which contained silk stockings among other things. Sometimes my twin and I would have some of our stockings missing. So when Laura was playing the piano, we would run upstairs and search through her drawers for our stockings, and when the music stopped we would scamper out of her room. Laura wasted no time in running upstairs to see what we were doing. Of course we were the picture of innocence when she asked us what we were up to.

What fun we had. We had to be on our toes to keep ahead of the game. I believe God gave each one of us a talent and can you imagine how it must have thrilled our Ma and Pa to hear Laura, before she could speak, humming the tune of "Jesus Loves Me."

I will try to relate this story as it was told to me by my sisters Mabel and Viola. This happened in the year of 1910. Mabel was seven years old, Viola was five and Vic was three and a half years old.

Our Pa had just finished building their new house. The three children were playing upstairs in one of the hired hand's room. As the three children went into the room, they noticed a lamp on the dresser and a box of matches. They had been told many times not to play in the hired men's room. They each took a turn to light the lamp, not realizing the lamp had no coal oil in it. They had lit quite a few matches, when one accidently fell on the cloth dresser scarf and caught on fire. They were so frightened that Viola and Vic both hid under the bed, while Mabel, bless her heart, had the presence of mind enough to run downstairs and tell Mom that there was a fire upstairs. Can you imagine how fear must have gripped Ma's heart as she heard the word "fire?" And you can be sure Ma ran upstairs as fast as she could and smothered the fire with a quilt.

We had a wonderful mother. I was greatly touched when this story was told to me, because I realized that way back in 1910 our heavenly Father was looking after Mabel, Viola and Vic and I also realized that if they had not had God's protection, I would never had known them, and for that I am grateful.

I guess coming from a large family accounts for some of the outstanding, or should I say unusual or perhaps ridiculous, things we used to do and say. Most of these happened when our parents were away which wasn't very often. But you know, as the saying goes, "When the cats away, the mice will play."

This was one of our favorites. We would take the top quilt from our bed and lay it down carefully on the top steps of the stairway. Then we would sit on the quilt in rows, and pull the bottom of the quilt up tight, and hang on for dear life. Once we got started going we would sail to the bottom of the stairs screaming and yelling with delight. Humpity, bumpity, bump, pump, pump, pump! What fun we had! Once our Ma caught us doing this, and was very indignant about the way we were treating her quilts. And I certainly don't blame her, do you?

Another favorite of ours was making candy when our parents were gone. Sometimes it was a total flop, but we saw candy so seldom that we had no trouble in eating it all gone.

Once my twin, Esther made a batch of marshmallows following a recipe. They were so delicious that all the other kids, while praising her up so high, were eating them so fast, and I guess she didn't have the heart to say no to anyone with so much praise floating around.

I believe we all had our turn making angel food cake as we had a lot of eggs to experiment with. While the cake was in the oven for one hour it would rise to the top. We took it out carefully, and turned it upside down on a plate and when we took a peek at our wonderful masterpiece, you can imagine our disappointment when we saw that it was only one inch high.

One time our dear mother caught us, of all things, playing catch with the eggs in the yard and if we didn't catch them they would break. She quickly put a stop to that, and gave us a good lecture on the sin of wasting good food.

When we played a game in order to be first we would stand in a row with our fists clenched and the leader would hit each fist while saying this little ditty: "Inty minty dibbity fig, dillya delya domionig ouchy houchy, domin ouchy ala bala boo." Each time you ended this ditty, the last fist you hit would go behind the owners back. You would repeat this ditty until only one fist was left, and he or she would be it.

Olive (Dale) Lennis IsBell was born into a large loving family. There was Pa and Ma and thirteen children. She didn't arrive in this world alone-for by her side was her twin sister Esther. On the day of their arrival, Pa dutifully handed them over to the two oldest sisters and from that day on they diapered, bathed and dressed their new baby dolls putting them on display for all their neighbors and friends to adore.

Her growing up years were filled with a combination of hard work, fun and good family times, creating a wonderful bond with her parents and brothers and sisters that would last a lifetime. Having Godly parents, church was a vital part of their lives both socially and spiritually. There, the tiny seeds of faith were planted that would lie dormant for many years.

Olive excelled in acrobats, basketball and track - she never remembered having lost a race! She lived a dare and when challenged, rode a wild horse, milked an angry cow and did a back bend on the edge of the roof of their house. She thoroughly enjoyed all the bantering and spoofs of a large family with all their varied personalities and fondly remembered those "growing up" years.

Olive married Robert IsBell, a handsome hard-working man who could tell somebody what he was upset about and why in a minute. They began their married life and started their family in Alberta. They then moved to Steelhead, B.C., a small community north of Mission City, where they raised their family.

Robert worked hard at making a living splitting shakes while Olive, cooked, cleaned, baked bread, washed clothes, sewed and took good care of their eight children. Even though there were times that her life was hard, never once did she complain. She always made the best of every situation and made do with what she had. She added love, caring and laughter to their home in large doses.

She wrote plays, poetry and music and often the plays she wrote her children acted out in school. She sewed clothes and costumes without a pattern. She loved music, good stories and games. She always cared for troubled and needy people.

Sadly, she buried her youngest daughter, Caroline, in 1972 and her beloved husband Robert two years later.

After her children were grown, she learned to drive a car with a standard transmission - she was fifty-eight! She took up painting, piano playing and writing stories of her many memories of growing up in a large family plus raising one of her own. She became a homemaker for the District of Nakusp and faithfully cared for her charges. For years she went to the Halcyon Home to play the piano and visit the elderly.

She loved all of her grandchildren, baking bread with them, singing with them, telling them stories and keeping for them a large collection of dress-up clothes from years past.

In 1969, at the age of sixty-three, those tiny seeds of faith in God that were planted in her childhood began to grow, bloom and bear fruit. He became the theme in her music, the punctuation in her poetry and the golden thread woven through all of her stories. He was her Lord and her God. She loved him with all of her heart and her love for her family and friends grew out of that.

In the words of Graham Maxfield, she was a grand lady and she will be deeply missed. Her life has influenced and enriched countless people and we can say the world has been a better place because of her life.

On behalf of her family, I say "Goodbye dear Mother" 'til we meet again! You have shown that love is kind and patient and never fails and your life has blessed your children and grandchildren beyond measure.