Hughie I hardly know how to begin what I've started out to say without saying many things that have nothing at all to do with the things I ought to say. It was, let me see, let me think how long -- oh well it was years ago when I was only eighteen. The winter was on and for many years there had not been such a snow. My father was a Union Pacific watchman at the tunnels east of Morgan, close by the Devil's Slide and the Portland Cement Plant. I was teaching school at West Porterville, a small town south east of Morgan, where lived the most kindly and gracious people in all the world, with the most adorable and lovable boys and girls. I had attended the autumn term at the B.Y.U. before beginning my winter's teaching. In those days the schools in our county only ran from five to seven months. There were a dozen different schools then, each town having its own school with three trustees, or school board members. My school at Porterville was a little one roomed school. Kerosene lights, and a wood stove in the center of the room to keep us warm. There were all the grades from beginners up, with some students as old and older than I. It was the custom in those early days, once a year at least, to have a school sleigh ride. With my home at the tunnels, the school trustees decided it would be fine to take us there for our ride, and get my father to take us through the tunnels. We usually had heavy snowfall so we waited for a nice warm day for our ride, and at last it arrived. There were sixty children three sleigh loads, with twenty in each sleigh. We all sat on the bottom of the sleigh with plenty of quilts over us to keep us warm. The school trustees and the oldest boys were the drivers. On the way through Morgan we stopped at the store where the trustees purchased an abundance of good things for dinner, to be eaten at my home by the tunnels. After we had eaten our dinners, and while there were no trains on schedule, we proceeded to the tunnels. There was a railroad bridge to cross just before we came to the first tunnel. The tunnel then was merely a hole cut through the mountain, a one way track, no lights, and dark inside. When I think of it today I should count it a perilous thing to do. Grossing a railroad bridge in the winter with sixty children of all ages. But not then. We were all simply thrilled with such an adventure. So we crossed the bridge and began the trek through the tunnel. We were all inside and it was getting darker and darker, when we heard an odd rumbling noise coming closer and closer. It took but a moment to realize that a train was rounding the point of the mountain where we had crossed the bridge. And a special at that, seeming to come like lightning! There was little time-- we had to act quickly! I told every child to lie down at once, to get close to the walls on both sides as possible, and not to move nor try to get up until I told them that they could. The fast freight was right upon us! It's noise almost deafened us! The smoke almost suffocated us! Great fear almost overcame us as it thundered past us and disappeared through the opening on the other side! After the noise grew fainter and the smoke began clear¬ing, we all crawled out terribly frightened but unhurt. As we came out in the opening toward the light we began brush¬ing the dirt from our clothing, and were beginning to breathe easier when one of the older boys looking around said, "Where's Hughie?" Sure enough Hughie was missing! He was only six, and the littlest boy in school. He was not with the rest of the children. The two oldest boys hurriedly rushed back, and entering the tunnel found little Hughie lying face downward, scarcely moving. One of the boys said, "Hugh, get up!" Little Hughie moved, turned his face toward them and said in a brave but frightened voice, "Did teacher say that I could?" That was years ago when I was only eighteen, and now I am seventy-eight. My kind and loving father Benjamin F. Smith who showed us through the tunnel, the busy schoolboard members, Joseph Taylor, Henry Florence and Joseph Durrant, who took us for the ride and banqueted us so generously, and little Hughie, too, have all passed to the Great Beyond. The little one roomed schoolhouse, too, is a thing of the past. How, Under consolidation, it has been replaced these many years with a beautiful many roomed school, where the children from all the towns are transported by bus to a central school where every convenience and facility is provided them for their education. But the love and trust of a little child is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Little Hughie's words--"Did teacher say that I could?" will go sing in my heart down all the years, and will echo on the sands of time forever and forever. Annie S. Dickson