AS I related earlier, my first recollections of a religious sort cluster about going to the Center Church in Barnet with Grandma Batch. My ideas of Christian behavior were derived from my elders, and resulted in the moral disapprobation with which I viewed the intellectually delightful prospect of the Montreal--Boston trains busy on a Sunday afternoon. It was not until we moved to Pawtucket that religion affected me in any personal way.
There Father and Mother joined the Park Place Congregational Church, which had recently split off from the old First Congregational Church. What led to the split I do not know, but I had the general idea the First Church people were rather stuffy. The Park Place people were not. Our pastor was the Reverend Mr. Woolley, a Civil War chaplain, the father of three children -- one of whom, Mary Woolley, later became president of Mt. Holyoke College. I may have gone to Sunday School in Barnet; I certainly did in Pawtucket. But the experience has left no imprint on my memory.
Father and Mother together were the religious center of my life. Until my early teens every morning before going to work or school we knelt and Father led us in family prayers. Even then he was bald-headed. My earliest recollection of family worship is that of kneeling beside him at his chair, pulling the red handker-