each. Then Mr. Langdon brought forward a very pretty box
and opened it, and took from it a deed of the house. So the comedy ended
very pleasantly, and we sat down to supper.

The company departed about midnight, and left us alone in our new
quarters. Then Ellen, the cook, came in to get orders for the morning's
marketing--and neither of us knew whether beefsteak was sold by the
barrel or by the yard. We exposed our ignorance, and Ellen was fall of
Irish delight over it. Patrick McAleer, that brisk young Irishman, came
in to get his orders for next day--and that was our first glimpse of
him....

Our first child, Langdon Clemens, was born the 7th of November, 1870,
and lived twenty-two months. Susy was born the 19th of March, 1872, and
passed from life in the Hartford home, the 18th of August, 1896. With
her, when the end came, were Jean and Katy Leary, and John and Ellen
(the gardener and his wife). Clara and her mother and I arrived in
England from around the world on the 31st of July, and took a house in
Guildford. A week later, when Susy, Katy and Jean should have been
arriving from America, we got a letter instead.

It explained that Susy was slightly ill--nothing of consequence. But we
were disquieted, and began to cable for later news. This was Friday. All
day no answer--and the ship to leave Southampton next day, at noon.
Clara and her mother began packing, to be ready in case the news should
be bad. Finally came a cablegram saying, "Wait for cablegram in the
morning." This was not satisfactory--not reassuring. I cabled again,
asking that the answer be sent to Southampton, for the day was now
closing. I waited in the post-office that night till the doors were
closed, toward midnight, in the hope that good news might still come,
but there was no message. We sat silent at home till one in the morning,
waiting--waiting for we knew not what. Then we took the earliest morning
train, and when we reached Southampton the message was there. It said
the recovery would be long, but certain. This was a great relief to me,
but not to my wife. She was frightened. She and Clara went aboard the
steamer at once and sailed for America, to nurse Susy. I remained behind
to search for a larger house in Guildford.

That was the 15th of August, 1896. Three days later, when my wife and
Clara were about half-way across the ocean, I was standing in our
dining-room thinking of nothing in particular, when a cablegram was put
into my hand