and one, too, who loved his bottle, who looked after the outside of the premises. “Old Dutch George” as we knew him, was a Union soldier from Pennsylvania, who was spending his declining days in the Soldiers’ Home at Dayton, Ohio, but who over a period of years, every spring would show up at the farm to spend the summer, and to do odd jobs for his room and board. The old home proved a boon for him, too, for the months he would spend on the farm would be the only time in the entire year he would draw a sober breath. George’s special job was to white wash the stables and the fences and to keep the highway from the school house to the tenant house so well tidied up that for years the old home on the Pike was spoken of as the best kept home between Cincinnati and Columbus. O'f course there were many other wayfarers during this period, most of them having known better days, none of them angels— none downright vicious—but all weak. None were denied at least a meal and a bed as they passed on their way. Those who passed on,—those who stayed—make a composite picture of white and gold, but sometimes drab, which made life on the farm at this particular period as unusual and as novel but far more worthwhile, than any interior decoration which the old painter Floyd, achieved, in seeking to contribute to the family’s fortune and prestige. But in addition to this day by day picture of abounding hospitality throughout the years, there were those special periods when the hospitality of the home was strained to the breaking point. This was the case more than once during times of national depression, when millions of people were thrown out of work. Because there were no relief organizations in the larger cities in that day, thousands of these idle people would travel the main highways of the nation, seeking work in the rural areas, and if not finding work, seeking enough to keep body and soul together. Columbus Pike was one of the main highways and in the depression of 1893 and again as late as 1906, daily scores of these able bodied men would be trudging along the highway, and many of them would turn in for a handout. Never to my knowledge was one of them denied at least a slice of bread, and it was never given without a word of encouragement—and this in spite of the fact that in 1893 the farm itself was in the grip of a depression of its own, and there was little extra to give any one. 41
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