r's Valley, Virginia, which sums up one's duty in
life: "Do what you can, with what you've got, where you are."

The country is the place for children, and if not the country, a city
small enough so that one can get out into the country. When our own
children were little, we were for several winters in Washington, and
each Sunday afternoon the whole family spent in Rock Creek Park, which
was then very real country indeed. I would drag one of the children's
wagons; and when the very smallest pairs of feet grew tired of trudging
bravely after us, or of racing on rapturous side trips after flowers and
other treasures, the owners would clamber into the wagon. One of these
wagons, by the way, a gorgeous red one, had "Express" painted on it in
gilt letters, and was known to the younger children as the "'spress"
wagon. They evidently associated the color with the term. Once while we
were at Sagamore something happened to the cherished "'spress" wagon to
the distress of the children, and especially of the child who owned it.
Their mother and I were just starting for a drive in the buggy, and we
promised the bereaved owner that we would visit a store we knew in East
Norwich, a village a few miles away, and bring back another "'spress"
wagon. When we reached the store, we found to our dismay that the wagon
which we had seen had been sold. We could not bear to return without
the promised gift, for we knew that the brains of small persons are much
puzzled when their elders seem to break promises. Fortunately, we saw in
the store a delightful little bright-red chair and bright-red table,
and these we brought home and handed solemnly over to the expectant
recipient, explaining that as there unfortunately was not a "'spress"
wagon we had brought him back a "'spress" chair and "'spress" table.
It worked beautifully! The "'spress" chair and table were received with
such rapture that we had to get duplicates for the other small member
of the family who was the particular crony of the proprietor of the new
treasures.

When their mother and I returned from a row, we would often see the
children waiting for us, running like sand-spiders along the beach. They
always liked to swim in company with a grown-up of buoyant temperament
and inventive mind, and the float offered limitless opportunities
for enjoyment while bathing. All dutiful parents know the game of
"stage-coach"; each child is given a name, such as the whip, the nigh
leader, the o