er farm and
her poultry the rest of the day. Sometimes she played billiards with me
after dinner, but she was usually too tired to play, and went early to
bed.

Yesterday afternoon I told her about some plans I had been devising
while absent in Bermuda, to lighten her burdens. We would get a
housekeeper; also we would put her share of the secretary-work into Mr.
Paine's hands.

No--she wasn't willing. She had been making plans herself. The matter
ended in a compromise, I submitted. I always did. She wouldn't audit the
bills and let Paine fill out the checks--she would continue to attend to
that herself. Also, she would continue to be housekeeper, and let Katy
assist. Also, she would continue to answer the letters of personal
friends for me. Such was the compromise. Both of us called it by that
name, though I was not able to see where my formidable change had been
made.

However, Jean was pleased, and that was sufficient for me. She was proud
of being my secretary, and I was never able to persuade her to give up
any part of her share in that unlovely work.

In the talk last night I said I found everything going so smoothly
that if she were willing I would go back to Bermuda in February and get
blessedly out of the clash and turmoil again for another month. She was
urgent that I should do it, and said that if I would put off the trip
until March she would take Katy and go with me. We struck hands upon
that, and said it was settled. I had a mind to write to Bermuda by
tomorrow's ship and secure a furnished house and servants. I meant to
write the letter this morning. But it will never be written, now.

For she lies yonder, and before her is another journey than that.

Night is closing down; the rim of the sun barely shows above the
sky-line of the hills.

I have been looking at that face again that was growing dearer and
dearer to me every day. I was getting acquainted with Jean in these last
nine months. She had been long an exile from home when she came to us
three-quarters of a year ago. She had been shut up in sanitariums,
many miles from us. How eloquent glad and grateful she was to cross her
father's threshold again!

Would I bring her back to life if I could do it? I would not. If a word
would do it, I would beg for strength to withhold the word. And I would
have the strength; I am sure of it. In her loss I am almost bankrupt,
and my life is a bitterness, but I am content: for she has been enriched
with t