Dad and Mother, there was a family we liked very much. The name of this family was McIntyre. There were the father, mother and six children, three boys and three girls, the latter ranging from fifteen years down. The boys were the oldest and did most of the work on the farm, that was done at all, which was seldom. The father, Phil McIntyre, was a dreamer, easy going. Looking back now, I would say that he was a romancer. He could find more in a pansy by the roadside than I could find in a forty acre field of roses. He was a great reader and in that rude log home, already crowded, he made room for his library of books with green covers. He called them his green library and it was large for anyone to have in those days.
It always seemed heaven to me to go the four miles over to that home. I had to go through a dense woods to reach the house. How I loved those people, not just one but the whole family. They were the finest people in our neighborhood. Another thing Phil McIntyre was greatly interested in was horses and they were to be his undoing. He had four plow horses and two Kentucky race horses. The latter were a bay mare, called
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