The latest excitement in our neighborhood has been the exploit of myself and my son Arthur, with several other aspirants, attempting without training, to walk to Channel Lake, fifty-four miles, in one day.

Our plan was for the men to leave Oak Park at sundown and walk in the dark thirty miles, and the ladies leave home, in automobile, at 3:30 in the morning, then all take breakfast together at Libertyville, from where the ladies would accompany the men on the last twenty-four miles.

The evening before the start we had a laughable wrangle as to who, of the men, could or could not pull through to Libertyville, as the heavy fall rains had so impaired the roads that there would be much high stepping and low dipping as we stumbled along in the dark. Also, we knew that the journey from Libertyville to Antioch, being over clay hills, would be either slip-slop or hard and sharp for the feet of the ladies, but everybody seemed anxious to make a record.

Jessie, Arthur's wife, and Mrs. Buhler felt dubious about the outcome of the ladies' walk, but my wife declared she would like to see the man who had walked thirty miles in the night that she could not accompany through the following day.

Of the very many aspirants all found plausible excuses except the two Richardsons and their wives, Eugene Buhler, and Paul Highland and their wives, Albert Hauter, Edd Hauter and Bruce Tate.

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Accordingly, as the autumn sun was casting its last gleam through the old oaks we seven men grouped for a picture, by a neighbor lady, who declared it would be nice for the survivors, if any, to look at after they had become weaker and wiser.

After kissing all the kissable ladies and promising to take it easy, we, in spite of ourselves, lit out at a pace that would have done justice to trained pedestrians.

In River Forest we turned north on Keystone avenue and then on to the country road, when we broke step and strung out, each man attending to his own feet.

It was understood that we stop for supper at Desplaines, but when we arrived at Kolze, seven miles out, the two Hauters, Highland and Tate ordered ham and eggs, while Buhler, Arthur and myself pegged on fast, because the others had declared they would catch us before we reached Desplaines, but they did not.

At Desplaines, thirteen miles out, we found the summer restaurant closed, but in a sort of hotel annex we found a damsel of about 12 years ready to prepare for us ham, eggs and coffee.

She did step around like a regular woman, for which we recompensed her liberally, for she was exceptionally quaint and interesting for a child.

While we were eating, the rear guard arrived, when Albert and Paul came in, saying Bruce and Edd were waiting outside.

When we were ready to start Edd and Bruce were nowhere to be found. We inquired, called and whistled, but no response, so concluded they had either become discouraged and taken the train for Chicago or gone on ahead to fool us, so we five struck out for Wheeling.

At every house the dogs came out barking, which set the dogs at the next house agoing, who, together with the dogs at the last house, which had not yet stopped barking, gave us real dog encouragement.

To keep up our spirits we accompanied the dogs by striking up "Old Black Joe." Really we lacked only a bagpipe to have made the farmers think Gabriel was at hand calling the elect from their graves.

At every bend in the old Desplaines River the water babbled loudly, seeming to join in our merriment, as we jested, told stories and laughed through the joyous hours of our moonlight escapade along the winding stream.

At Wheeling, twenty-two miles out, Buhler began to realize he ought not to have attempted so strenuous an effort, but said he would stick it out forty miles, to Gray's Lake, after which we could continue our foolishness if we did not know enough to get in and ride.

Tate and Ed Hauter put in their appearance at Libertyville, just before the ladies arrived, and to prove they had actually walked all the way, exhibited blisters on their heels.

The ladies teased us and seemed greatly amused while arousing us for breakfast, but soon we were all out in the glorious dawn while the sun was yet lingering beyond old Lake Michigan.

Our way was over the hills which overlook the head waters of the sleepy Desplaines. Touched with a glimmer of pathos at the golden dawn, Arthur and I stopped to listen to my wife's sentimental refrain:

"Not so long ago the red men with their squaws and papooses gathered here, when the leaves were falling, to celebrate their autumn pow-wow, feasting on wild rice, berries and venison, never dreaming that a pale-faced foe lurked on an unknown shore who would soon appear to drive them far away from their own hunting ground, never more to return to join in the chase or the young braves to woo the sun-burned Indian maids."

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This little day dream of long ago seemed to awaken serious thought, into which Arthur took part thus:

"Isn't this lovely away from the great city of catch as catch can—to enjoy the inspiration of these quiet hills and valleys? I wonder if this morning may not be just a glimmer of worlds in the far away Eternity more beautiful than ours. Do you think, father, there are other worlds like ours?"

"Not exactly like ours, my boy, there are no two cherries on the tree just alike, still like folks they are all similar. Eternity is the abode of millions of worlds—see, there, our party are climbing the next hill; no more monologues here, we must overtake them."

From Gray's Lake, when our party of eleven had dwindled to five, Arthur, Hauter and Highland pegged steadily on, while Mary and I lagged to enjoy the beautiful northern hilly country.

We really did enjoy our lark, as Mary called it. She observed every interesting thing. Listened to the barking of the squirrels, songs of the birds and strayed into the woods for pretty autumn leaves and berries until her arms were full.

Our daughter Vida, at Carroll College, who knew of our contemplated walk, telephoned to Chicago and on learning we had actually started took the train to Antioch and came down the road to surprise us.

We were loafing along when our Weiders (Vida), whom we had not seen in eight weeks, sprang from a concealment and grabbed us.

Surely I would not have been much more surprised if one of the fair sex from the planet Mars had accosted us.

After the shower of kisses Mary and I forgot our sore toes, and, with her, hurried on, visiting all the way until we neared our destination, when in the woods, a flood of red bitter-sweet berries attracted their attention and, in spite of all I could do or say, they left the road and began browsing again.

Vida's animation reached serene heights, when from a perch on a fallen tree she cried, "Oh, Papa, see how I can climb. Come up here and see the rippling wave of old Fox Lake dance in the blushing rays of the evening sun. Oh, isn't it a pity that girls cannot fly."

When we arrived at the home of my brother, G. M. Richardson, we found Arthur, Hauter and Highland, with many friends, awaiting us, all pleased to learn that the Richardsons were far from being played out.

After dinner, and Amanda (my brother's wife) had taken Mary and me to the kitchen and exhibited their 24-pound turkey for dinner next day, we gathered in the big living room, when even those who were tired were able to tease and tell stories which had the semblance of truth.

It was not intended for a Richardson reunion, still there were Richardsons enough to render the occasion one of merriment and joy.

Besides mates and friends, the following Richardsons were present.

My brother Gordon.
His son Perin.
His son Merrick.
His son Lawrence.
His son George.
His daughter Gertie.
His daughter Elma.
Myself—Merrick Abner.
My son—Merrick Arthur.
And—Vida.

We had a high old time, for the Richardsons when teasing are said to be somewhat given to exaggeration, so one can easily understand that when they cut loose no one felt sleepy.