Grandma Zilphia, mama's mama, had a picture on her parlor wall which fascinated me. It was of an old plantation house, with long white pillars and huge oak trees sheltering it with Spanish moss hanging from their limbs. A flowing river in the foreground completed the picture which had been nicely painted in oils. Grandma, who didn't have much patience with kids, didn't mind repeating her story because it involved Uncle Charlie, her favorite son.
Some people think so.
For my part I think it looks awfully gloomy. But Grandma would say no more and it was years before I learned that there really was no reason for it. It was just another of the brutalities of man that I witnessed as I traveled along my road. When I was 15 I had laboriously finished the eighth grade and Papa, who had a great hatred of schools because he felt it caused him to pay high taxes, decided that I had had enough education and made arrangements for me to become a cabinet maker's apprentice. All the other men were grumbling and complaining over their wages of 35 cents an hour and a few really skilled workers enjoyed the princely salaries of 50 cents per hour.