very one was most friendly, especially the correspondents.
Just as I liked to be on a story with a "star" man when I was a
reporter, they liked having a real "war" correspondent, take it
seriously. They were always wanting to know if it were like the Real
Thing, and as I assured them it was, they were satisfied. Some
incidents were very funny. I met a troop of cavalry this morning,
riding away from the battle, down a crossroad, and thinking it was a
flanking manoeuvre, started to follow them with the car. "Where are
you going?" I asked the Captain. "Nowhere," he said, "We are dead."
An Umpire was charging in advance of two troops of the 10th down a
state road, when one trooper of the enemy who were flying, turned back
and alone charged the two troops. "You idiot"! yelled the Umpire,
"don't you know you and your horse are shot to pieces?" "Sure, I know
it," yelled the trooper "but, this ---- horse don't know it."

RICHARD.

Early in the fall of 1909 Richard returned from Marion to New York and
went to Crossroads, where for the next three years he remained a
greater part of the time. They were years of great and serious changes
for him. An estrangement of long standing between him and his wife had
ended in their separation early in 1910, to be followed later by their
divorce. In September of that year my mother died while on a visit to
Crossroads.

After my father's death life to her became only a period of waiting
until the moment came when she would rejoin him--because her faith was
implicit and infinite. She could not well set about preparing herself
because all of her life she had done that and, so, smiling and with a
splendid bravery and patience she lived on, finding her happiness in
bringing cheer and hope and happiness to all who came into the presence
of her wonderful personality. The old home in Philadelphia was just
the same as it had been through her long married life--that is with one
great difference, but on account of this difference I knew that she was
glad to spend her last days with Richard at Crossroads. And surely
nothing that could be done for a mother by a son had been left undone
by him. Through these last long summer days she sat on the terrace
surrounded by the flowers and the sunshine that she so loved. Little
children came to play at her knee, and old friends travelled from afar
to pay her court.

In the winter of 1910-11 my brother visited Aiken, where he spent
several mont