Paul met a boy of his own age who had the reddest hair anyone had ever seen; hair couldn’t be any redder than Fay’s—his name was Fay Stafford; it was the red of a fiery flame and to him it was a source of considerable humiliation. If there ever was a boy who deserved the friendship of another boy, that boy was Fay and the friendship of another boy is what he got, the friendship of Paul. Before Paul could speak the name of his boy friend plainly, he used to call at his house and ask his mother if “Pay” could come out and play.

Fay suffered a great hardship; his folks compelled him to wear shoes even during the long hot summer days when going barefooted was such an exquisite pleasure; but the two raced the fields and hills together.

They knew no single-blessedness; they shared each others joys and sorrows. Paul’s life would have lost half its zest had he been deprived of the companionship of his red headed friend.

One day years later, Fay told a neighbor that it seemed at times to him that he was losing his mind. He became mentally unbalanced within two days thereafter and, was taken to the insane asylum at Brattleboro, where after spending several hopeless years be died, He was buried in the granite bills of old Vermont, and thus ended Paul’s first friendship.

Of life’s charms what is comparable with friendship? One may possess the wealth of a Croesus and yet, if friendless, how empty it all is.

The red-headed Vermont boy was the first of a long list of friends who have enriched and sweetened Paul’s life. He feels deeply indebted to them for the happiness they have brought him. They have indeed made life worth living and if there is any message which of all others be would send ringing down the aisles of time, it is the message of friendliness, the message of which mankind stands most in need.

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