(This is a good passage for me because it contains a colorful portrait of my ancestor George Rupert and his son Ralston.) We had Literary Societies and would meet twice a month at the school house and always had a debate. Oh, we settled lots of the world problems at these societies. One night they were busy debating when an old fellow jumped to his feet and said, "A thought just now struck me." He stood there for a while and then said, "And it now just left me," and then sat down. We had an old shoemaker by the name of Rupert that lived not far from our home. He made all the fine boots and calf skin shoes for the neighborhood, and most of the leather was tanned at my father's tannery. He couldn't read or write so had his own system of keeping track of the different pairs of boots or shoes. William Wilson brought a pair of boots to be mended, so he placed them in a section that he had set off in compartments, and one day he sent his son, Raul, to get them for him. Raul looked them all over and said he couldn't find "William Wilson." The old gentleman was greatly provoked and jumped up from his cobbler's bench and got them himself, saying "How can you be so dumb? Can't you see "We" for William and "We" for Wilson? The old people were very friendly and hospitable people. When about ten years old, I would take my sister, Clara, to her teacher of shorthand and typing at night to the McCandless home, which was about two miles away. While Clara took her lesson, I was entertained by the old lady McCandless. She would sit and talk to me as though I were a grown man and told me many a weird tale. She had a brother, Philip Frantz, who lived on an adjoining farm and was often there. As they talked they unconsciously would swear, not even realizing that they did. One day Mrs. McCandless must have gotten a little conscience stricken and said to Philip, "We must quit this damn swearing," and Philip said, "By God, Mary, we must."