d Isolde!"

I took enormous satisfaction in the fact that I could plant peas in my
garden till noon and hear a concert in Chicago on the same day. The
arrangement seemed ideal.

On May 9th I was again at home, "the first whippoorwill sang
to-night--trees are in full leaf," I note.

In a big square room in the eastern end of the house, I set up a
handmade walnut desk which I had found in LaCrosse, and on this I began
to write in the inspiration of morning sun-shine and bird-song. For four
hours I bent above my pen, and each afternoon I sturdily flourished
spade and hoe, while mother hobbled about with cane in hand to see that
I did it right. "You need watching," she laughingly said.

With a cook and a housemaid, a man to work the garden, and a horse to
plow out my corn and potatoes, I began to wear the composed dignity of
an earl. I pruned trees, shifted flower beds and established berry
patches with the large-handed authority of a southern planter. It was
comical, it was delightful!

To eat home-cooked meals after years of dreadful restaurants gave me
especial satisfaction, but alas! there was a flaw in my lute. We had to
eat in our living room; and when I said "Mother, one of these days I'm
going to move the kitchen to the south and build a real sure-enough
dining room in between," she turned upon me with startled gaze.

"You'd better think a long time about that," she warningly replied.
"We're perfectly comfortable the way we are."

"Comfortable? Yes, but we must begin to think of being luxurious.
There's nothing too good for you, mother."

Early in July my brother Franklin joined me in the garden work, and then
my mother's cup of contentment fairly overflowed its brim. So far as we
knew she had no care, no regret. Day by day she sat in an easy chair
under the trees, watching us as we played ball on the lawn, or cut weeds
in the garden; and each time we looked at her, we both acknowledged a
profound sense of satisfaction, of relief. Never again would she burn in
the suns of the arid plains, or cower before the winds of a desolate
winter. She was secure. "You need never work again," I assured her. "You
can get up when you please and go to bed when you please. Your only job
is to sit in the shade and boss the rest of us," and to this she
answered only with a silent, characteristic chuckle of delight.

"The Junior," as I called my brother, enjoyed the homestead quite as
much as I. Together we painted the porch,