Among his fads and peculiarities, Grandfather James insisted on absolute quiet in his home.  He would abide no childish prattle, no laughter, no patter of little feet.  Instead, his children learned to cease their play when their father was present.  They would sit quietly or move about just as quietly, if they had to move at all.  We have been told that anyone calling at the home during the day heard no usual household sounds; all was as quiet as if no one were living and working in the house.

An aunt of ours, James' granddaughter, told us that she never liked to go to her grandpa's house when she was a child, because he was continually admonishing his grandchildren, "A little less noise in there!"  But, she said, she and her sister later forgave their grandpa Barb all of this when he gave them a dime apiece to ride the merry-go-round at a county fair.

We have heard Grandmother Jemima described as a driving woman.  Certainly she was a hard-working and thrifty one, with but a very small amount of lightness in her makeup.  She took life with great seriousness and a steady stare.

The Barbs and the Beckwiths were close neighbors and our uncle Fred Beckwith happened to be present during a certain domestic scene.  Jemima's daughter, Susan, at the time a young lady school teacher, so far forgot her dignity as to quarrel and come to actual combat over a small, but very personal matter with her sister-in-law, Jennie Daugherty Barb, Bill Barb's wife.  (If you must know, Jennie didn't want to carry Susan's chamber pot.)

Fred	Susan	Jennie
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Uncle Fred may have been quite amused but Grandmother Jemima most distinctly was not.  The two young women were upstairs when the sounds of their conflict reached Jemima's ears.  Jerking open the stairway door, she called out in her heavy Virginia accent, "What, hyar!  You giruls a-fightin' hyar?!"  She was aghast. "Well, I'll be bound!  That's pretty carryings-on, I reckon!"  And she darted upstairs and soon restrained the excited combatants.