When Cyrus Clark was our stableman, he drove my father to  and from the station every day with a horse and carriage. One evening he was at the station as usual and my father, as usual, greeted him with, "Anything new, Cyrus?" "We've got a fine       new boy at the house Mr. Dickson," Cyrus replied in a character­ istic drawl that my father was good at imitating. Such was his version of how he first learned of my coming into the world;        the time, November 10, 1903, the place, Weston, Massachusetts.
   My association with the town of Weston dates back to 1673 when my ancestor, Nathan Fisk of Watertown, purchased 220 acres of land on North Avenue for ten pounds. In those days Weston was still a part of Watertown and known as the West or Farmer's Precinct. Nathan continued to live in Watertown but      his grandson, also Nathan, settled in Weston in the early 1700s, became a farmer and in town affairs served as Treasurer, Town Clerk, and Selectman at one time or another; Jonathan, his son  was also a Weston selectman for a number of years. As a lieuten‑

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