him than Constance or
Mary Isabel.

* * * * *

On Monday morning he was up early. "Now let's get to work," he said. "I
can't hoe as I used to do, and the weeds are getting the start of me."
To him the garden was a battlefield, a contest with purslane and he
hated to be worsted.

"Don't worry about the garden," I said. "It is not very important. What
does it matter if the 'pussley' does cover the ground?"

He would not have this. "It matters a good deal," he replied with hot
resentment, "and it won't happen so long as I can stand up and shove a
hoe."

To relieve his anxiety and to be sure that he did not overwork, I hired
Uncle Frank McClintock to come down for two or three days a week to help
kill the weeds. "The crop is not important to me," I said to him
privately, "but it _is_ important that you should keep a close watch on
Father while I am away. He is getting feeble and forgetful. See him
every day, and wire me if he is in need of anything. I must go back to
the city for a few weeks. If you need me send word and I'll come at
once."

He understood, and I went away feeling more at ease. I relied on Uncle
Frank's interest in him.

Now, it chanced that just before the date of our return to the
Homestead, Lily Morris, wife of the newly-appointed ambassador to
Sweden, invited my wife and children to accompany her on a trip to the
Big Horn Mountains and we were all torn between opposing duties and
desires.

Eager to see "Papa's Mountains," yet loath to lose anything of dear old
West Salem, Mary Isabel was pathetically perplexed. Connie was all for
West Salem but Zulime who knew the charm of the West decided to go, and
again I visited Father to tell him the news and to explain that we would
all be with him in August. The fear of disappointing him was the only
cloud on the happy prospect.

With a feeling of guilt I met him with the news of our change of plan,
softening the blow as best I could. He bore it composedly, though sadly,
while I explained that I could not possibly have shown the children the
mountains of my own accord. "I have some lectures in Colorado," I
explained, "but I shall not be gone long."

"I had counted on seeing Zulime and the children next week," was all he
said.

Just before my return to the city, he sent for a team, and together we
drove down to the little Neshonoc burying ground. "I want to inspect
your mother's grave," he explained.

On the way, as