Elizabeth slipped out the back door of the farmhouse

that had been home to her family for almost three genera-

tions now. The fresh morning hours were her favorite time

of day, and May was her favorite month. She flung out her

arms to embrace the dew-sparkled morning filled with bird-

song.

Nothing could make her heart sing with more joy than

the dawn chorus. No matter how full of hard work the day

ahead loomed, she would have these moments to cherish.

And in 1929 on a farm in Kuna, Idaho, hewn out of re-

claimed sagebrush desert, with a large family--soon to be

larger--the work never ceased.

She walked toward the big cottonwood tree in the cor-

ner of the yard. Her mother would be out in a minute. They

would do a gardening chore, then hurry in to finish cooking

breakfast, and the busy pace would begin. As the oldest

daughter, Elizabeth had always been her mother's right-

hand helper, just as Clarey, her twin brother, was their

father's. An especially clear warble trilled above her head,

and Elizabeth looked up into the thick, green branches, a

smile at the corners of her usually firm mouth.

The screen door banged behind her, and she turned

to extend her smile to her mother, walking across the