I have so many happy memories of my childhood. I thought my father was the best whistler and singer in the whole world. We would always come in the back kitchen door whistling or singing some funny song or ditty such as,

"It's a very cold night, a very cold night, a very cold night this morning."

One of his favorite folk ditties that had been handed down in his family was:

He would sing or hum other songs popular at the time such as: "Little Brown Jug", "Where Oh Where has my Little Dog Gone" and his favorite was "Grandfather's Clock". He told us about going to visit his grand-parents and being a little lonesome, the tick-took of their grandfather's clock lulled him to sleep and this clock was one of his prize possessions all of his life.

Many times, he would have returned from his morning chores and would sing to me as I appeared in my nightie to dress before the warm open oven door,

After supper in the winter, I expect my brothers and I would be raising the dickens and Mama would be at her wit's end and say,

"Papa, entertain those children until we get the dishes done and I can put them to bed."

My brother: Herman, played the mouth organ and Papa the jewsharp. I loved to dance to this music. One night, when I was about six years old, I was whirling around and stepping high. My younger brother William said:

"Shaver her down, Daisy, shaver down." It was a family by-word ever after if I was stepping a little too high.

There was a rocking chair in the kitchen with wide arms, great for playing handgames. Papa would hold the two younger boys and I would sit as close to him as possible. We would play: "Simon Says Thumbs Up", "Hand Over Hand" and our favorite, "Kings Chest". For this, the first player made a fist holding the thumb up and the second player would make a fist around the thumb, the third player would clutch the second player's thumb making a tower of fists and thumbs until only the leader had one hand free. He would say:

"What's that? Take it off before I knock it off." And would attempt to cuff off the top fist before the player could remove it and so on until only the last fist was left. Then the question again:

All would be silent! Then someone would giggle or forget, say a word and there would be gales of laughter.

Mama was kind, gentle and loving but when she said:

"To bed my sleep heads" Upstairs we went but would keep her with us as long as possible as we knelt saying our prayers.

When the big bell on the summer kitchen roof would clang announcing dinner or some special event, we stopped our croquet game or whatever as well as the men doing farm chores or in the hay-field and started for the house. Dinner time was pleasant and interesting as everyone assembled. The hired girl, my sister and I helped get dinner on. Our hired girls were, generally, very good but Mama caught one licking the butter knife behind the door and putting it on the table for clean. Mama insisted on good table manners and the dining room table was covered with a white cloth. Papa supervised the boys as they washed at the pump by the big, black iron sink and combed their hair. Mama took pride in setting a good table and Papa praised her for her efforts.

My father and mother had both been married previously, but their first mates had died. When my parents were married, Mother had a daughter, Bessie, eleven years old and my father an eight year old son. Though they had known great sadness there was never a hint of it in my childhood home.

In 1885 they bought a farm that was perfect, with a large rambling house, a well-kept horse and cattle barn. It was on the stage road from St. Albans to Canada and located four miles from St. Albans, Highgate and Swanton. Our house faced East and had a magnificent view across wide, peaceful meadows to distant hills. I expect my father talked so much about the view that an old bachelor uncle said in a slow tone.

"Well Fodie, we can't all live on scenery."

This farm was known as the Dr. Jane's farm and was a stop-off point for stage coaches for mail and passengers. There was a large desk with many pigeon holes for mail, in the kitchen. It was a conversation piece as it remained there after we had Rural Mail Delivery. The farms in the area were about two hundred acres. They had pleasant, comfortable houses on one side of the road with cow barns on the opposite. The road was lined with beautiful rock maples and large elm trees. Each home had a drive, with a stepping stone and hitching post so the neighbors could stop for a quick chat. This was our only telephone system. Several farms had groves of sugar maples. In the spring, it was such a treat to see them gather sap and boil it down to syrup or sugar and best of all to eat it with wooden paddles after it was poured on the white snow. I have such pleasant memories of these sugaring-off parties as I met my husband at Hubbard's sugar house.

I was born in 1886, the first child of Albert Pierce Royce and Mary Ann Chadwick Johnson Royce (nick-named Toot). My two brothers, William and Harold, were born within the next five years and my sister Esther arrived in the family in 1896. Our household was so active I wonder how my parents managed with six children, a hired girl, a hired man and often at least one of my grandmothers or my great-grandmother lived with us.

My mother's family lived on the Sheldon road and would drive up the East road to visit us. We could look down this road for two miles. When we saw a team coming, mother would say,

"Daisy, get the spyglass and see if it is any of our kin?"

Mother would then stoke up the fire, put potatoes in the oven, get a slab of salt pork from the cold room and stir up a johnney cake. We enjoyed having company. I always visited my aunts and uncles for a week at a time.

One of my happiest memories was visiting my Aunt Addie and Uncle Bay who owned and operated the Portland House in Sheldon. Uncle Bay had race horses which he raced at the Sheldon fair grounds. He ran a livery stable and would meet traveling salesmen at the station. Staying at the hotel was another world for me.

Once when my mother was driving me to Aunt Addie's, we met our mail man who had a letter for me. There was to be a special church camp meeting at the North Sheldon Camp Grounds. My Sunday School class had a large tent and all I needed was a tick filled with straw and bedding. We stopped at another aunt who lived along the way. She found me a straw tick and off we went to Camp.

The Camp Meeting was a wonderful treat. My friends and I were about sixteen and we loved the singing, special services and campfires after evening vespers. We were all properly chaperoned and had to be in bed at 10 o'clock. We helped keep the fires in the cook tent burning, clean the kerosene lamps and do other chores which needed doing. I went again the second year and enjoyed it as much. The camp grounds are still in use today.

Horses played an important part in the farm life of those days. The work horses were used for plowing the fields, bringing in hay, skidding the logs for wood. They were used for operating the horse-powered tread mills that ran the drag saw for cutting logs into block wood, and running the machine to thresh the grain. Every family had the liveliest pair of driving horses they could afford. This team was used to go to town, church or any social gathering. They were curried, clipped and decorated with fancy harnesses when taking the family for a ride in the sleigh or surrey. Papa had a way with horses and always had a colt to break. I was very proud when I saw him drive a six horse hitch at Sheldon fair.

We children were never happier than when we all rode in our two seated wagon behind Papa's spirited horses on the way to St. Albans to a parade on the Fourth of July or Decoration day. We would cheer loudly and wave our flags as Veterans of the Civil War marched proudly past.

The parades we liked best of all were when the Barnum and Bailey or Ringling Bros. circus came to town. The brass band in red uniforms was followed by big fancy wagons with lions and tigers pacing to and fro or monkeys screeching and doing tricks. I loved the slow, graceful swing of the elephants holding tail in trunk and the beautiful horses with riders in gay costumes. I was always a little sad when the haunting music of the calliope drifted away at the end of the parade.

Neighborhood and Sunday School picnics were big events, sometimes as far away as Lake Champlain or Fairfield pond. Such food: mounds of roast pork and chicken sandwiches, pots of baked beans, pies, cakes, a milk can of lemonade and often a wooden freezer of home-made ice-cream packed in ice from our own ice house. This ice had been harvested the winter before by Papa and packed in saw-dust.

What an adventure when we would go to Highgate Springs where the railroad provided a beautiful park on Lake Champlain. There were picnic tables, swings, a restaurant, a water pump in a little house and a pavillion in case of rain. This park covered several acres of trees, walks, bridges and boating docks. The railroad had special excursions from Montreal on holidays such as the Queen's Birthday, or Dominion Day. People dressed a little differently and many spoke French. A band or orchestra would play and everyone would dance. There was a bandstand on a small rock island off-shore where a band would often play concerts. There were novelties for sale, fancy pins, banners, balloons and squeakers. Indians selling sweet grass baskets were part of the colorful scene. We were dressed in our starched dresses and petticoats, wore leghorn hats and the ladies carried silk parasols. The boys' blouses, usually with sailor collars, were starched. Such ironings! Father would let us cross the foot bridge to the restaurant and have a soda from the fountain before climbing into the wagon to drive home. We enjoyed the ride home as we looked at beautiful summer homes and coachmen driving fancy horses. We passed a large summer hotel, The Franklin House. This in later years had special meaning to us as this was where my husband, Judson Hilliker and I had I dinner with friends after our wedding before leaving for Montreal on our honeymoon. Still later, my oldest grand-daughter chose this spot, now renamed The Tyler Place, to spend her wedding night.

Each summer, we went on an excursion taking the side-wheeler, Ticonderoga, from Magnam Bay to Burlington. What a thrill to hear the deep-throated whistle blow and the big paddle wheels start to turn.

One very special memory is of our trip to the dedication of Fort Ethan Allen. I was ten years old and had received a polka-dot dress with parasol to match for my birthday. We rose early in the morning and drove our horses to St. Albans where we took the excursion train to the special railway siding on the army post at Colchester. There we saw soldiers parade in fascinating formations wearing splendid uniforms. The officers rode horses that gleamed like velvet in their shining trappings. We were amazed to see the riders hit a small white ball with a long mallet while riding down the parade ground at full speed. This was our first look at the game of polo. We were concerned when one officer was thrown from his mount. Later we had lunch while the bands played. I was extra upset when a sudden shower drenched everyone. I was sure my new clothes were ruined, but fortunately the sun soon came out again and my parasol was as perky as ever.

These special events stand out in my memory, but a great joy and real influence on my life was our regular attendance at the Methodist Church in Swanton. I loved singing the hymns. We had such wonderful teachers in the Sunday School and it was there I met and made life-long friends. The Christmas program was the high-light of our Christmas season. I remember with great pleasure the melodious sounds made by the sleigh bells on several sleighs as neighbors drove home together on a crisp starry winter night.

One year, I was sure we wouldn't have a Christmas. Mama was sick in bed and Papa was so busy. I stood at a west window watching for Papa. It was getting dusk and almost Christmas eve. All of a sudden, I saw a Christmas tree etched against the bleak sky on the load of logs Papa was bringing home from the woods. I didn't say a word to anyone but I knew then we were going to have a merry Christmas. It was one of the most memorable as we all worked together trimming the tree not preparing a chicken dinner. Mama was able to come downstairs for Chrismas. We all found a set of new underwear under the tree, an orange, nuts and a twenty-five piece in our stockings. We opened an exciting big box and there in red tissue paper was a shining string of Jingling sleigh bells. The sun shone when we all went for a short sleigh ride to listen to the music of our merry bells.

I recall too that one night my brother William and I were driving to a church social; I was carrying a cake for the lunch, when a rabbit ran across the road and scared our horse so he jumped aside and tipped over the sleigh. Out we went cake and all. We never did find the cake in the fresh snow and the following spring even the cake plate had disappeared!

Our school days were happy times for me. My father was on the school board, and amongst other duties, he was responsible for having a warm fire going in the box stove, each morning, at the one-room school house which was just across the road from our house. There were eight grades and the teacher had each class, in turn, come to the front of the room and stand while reciting their lessons. Each day we had a fifteen minute recess and, if the weather permitted, we played games outside. Sometimes we went sliding, on our homemade sleds, or played "Fox and Geese" or "Run Sheep, Run". In the spring we played tag, baseball or "Drop the Handkerchief". If it rained, we played inside at guessing games or rehearsed for some special holiday program. We always had a program for every holiday such as Lincoln's birthday, Washington's birthday and Decoration day. We sang patriotic, religious, action, and folk songs.

We always wore starched cotton dresses in warm weather, or in the winter, wool dresses over long-legged, heavy underwear, with drop seats that buttoned across the back. This underwear was the bane of our lives because we couldn't possibly pull long cotton or wool stockings up over it without leaving bulges in the wrong places! Of course we had high buttoned shoes, high buckled overshoes, leggings and heavy coats with hood or cape.

The teacher usually boarded at our house since we were the nearest. One year our teacher was a fine organist so Papa bought an organ and this excellent teacher gave me lessons for her room and board. This was most helpful in later years when I taught school. I was extremely grateful.

Our organ was a focal point in our home. My girl-hood friends, my best friends through the years, enjoyed coming to our house to play games such as carom, flinch, dominoes or jack straws. After a game or two, we would have a song-fest. Papa would often join us as we sang Stephen Foster's songs and new hits of the day. My grandmothers were delighted especially with gospel hymns.

My maternal great-grandmother came to visit us before we had the organ and would teach me her favorite hymns. On Sunday, after she was no longer able to attend church, she would sit by a sunny window in our parlor and read the Bible. I still have her book of Common Prayer. She was a staunch Episcopalian and helped build Grace Episcopal Church in Sheldon. She was Mary Ann Ives and at the age of fourteen in 1827 married Harvey Royce. They went to E. Dickinson, N.Y., to visit the Royces and thought they might settle but she was so homesick they returned to Vermont. Upon their return they built a log cabin, drained land, lumbered, farmed and eventually built a fine brick house at Green's Corner between St. Albans and Sheldon. A railroad station was located here. They built a creamery and shipped butter and cheese to Boston. Harvey and Mary Ann had six children. My grandmother Rhoda Ann was the oldest and married Marsh Chadwick of Sheldon. They lived the greater part of their lives near Fairfield pond in a farmhouse known as the old Drapers hotel. My mother, Mary Ann, was their second child.

My father and mother were both descendants of Robert Royce who was born in England and came to Boston with his nephew on the ship Francis in 1634. He was admitted a free man, April first 1634. He was disarmed by the Boston authorities in 1639 as he was a strong supporter of William and Ann Hutchinson, free religious thinkers, who were banished from the Mass. Bay Colony. Robert Royce removed to Stratford, Conn. in 1644 and in 1658 moved to New London, Conn. and was a constable and a member of the General Assembly in 1669. He left an estate of 420 pounds to his five sons. The Northern Wilderness beckoned as they found Connecticut too crowded. One son, Hezekia, came to Claremont, New Hampshire, but finally settled in Vermont on Swanton Hill near Fairfield Pond. Later he lived with his son, Harvey, in the brick house at Green's Corners. Both are buried in that cemetery. Etched on Harveys stone is his philosophy of life,

Two brothers settled in the Dickinson New York, area and were surveyors and farmers in that section. This New York branch of Royces are my paternal grandfather's descendants. Two other brothers went further West to Illinois. My grandfather was William Abbott Royce who was born in East Dickinson, New York, and married Elvira Ann Cady about 1816. Her father made her a beautiful cherry chest with bird's eye maple drawers. This chest is one of my treasures as my father gave it to me as a wedding gift. They had a family of ten children, one every two years. My father, Albert Pierce Boyce, was their fifth child.

It was an event to have my grandmother from New York state visit us. I took great delight at the age of ten and eleven listening to my father and grandmother tell stories of his childhood. My grandmother was a tailoress by trade and had one of the first sewing machines invented. It was turned by hand and connected with a wheel that ran with a foot treadle.

Grandmother Royce had short dark hair she wrapped in curlers hidden beneath her white night cap. She always looked very neat and had laughing brown eyes like Papa's. She enjoyed telling a story concerning their soap-making operation. Rain barrels were placed at all of the corners of their large, stone house. Ashes from their fireplaces as well as wagon loads from nearby farms were placed in wooden barrels and water poured over them. As the lye solution came from a hole in the bottom of the barrel it was caught and boiled in brass kettles until concentrated and then boiled with animal fat to make soap.

A neighbor was bringing in a sleigh load of ashes just as my father and his older brothers were sliding on a traverse sled which skidded and collided with the sleigh. The horse ran away: the sleigh tipped over and the boys were practically buried in a cloud of ashes much to the merriment of all spectators.

A factory extracting starch from potatoes was the bane of my father's existence. At the age of fourteen, he had to rise early and start a large fire under the boiler.

The family all worked hard but had merry times too. The old stone house was a social gathering spot, especially when a good fiddler arrived as the neighbors and the Royces were ready to dance the night away. Singing schools, prayer meetings, quilting and spelling bees added to the merriment.

A bountiful feast was prepared by the women of the area when the beams were raised for the Christian Church in Dickinson, N.Y., which the Royces helped build. Papa remembered the first New Years Eve watch meeting held with absolute quiet at midnight.

It was decided when Papa was sxteen he should attend the normal school at Potsdam, New York. He carried food and supplies to his sister, Bell, who was enrolled as a student and was to board and look after Papa. All of a sudden, the cry, "Go West, young man, go West," was more appealing than normal school. He was too young to work on the railroad, but got a job in a grain elevator in Nebraska. Papa became very homesick, the cold and wind were so bitter. He was dismayed by the white men that sold whisky to the Indians in the area instead of helping them. Papa decided life in East Dickinson wasn't so bad after all.

After a stint of work at home, he came to Greene's Corners, Vermont, to work for his Uncle Harvey. Here he found peace and contentment among Vermont's comfortable, green hills and valleys. When his mother came to visit us in later years, and heard a neighbor ask her why her family traveled East and West, her thoughtful reply was:

"What is this great beautiful world for if it isn't to explore?"

In 1976 my family are still carying on the Royce tradition of exploration. My daughter Natalie McLure and her husband Clifford remain Vermonters but are thankful they live in the jet age. Their oldest daughter, Mary Louise McLure Marcussen and family live in Norway, Nancy Lee McLure Duder in New Zealand and Martha Royce McLure works at the Smithsonian Institute in Washington. They all look forward to coming to Vermont to swim and sail on Lake Champlain and ski on Mt. Mansfield.