of Mr. Millburn, the
President of the Exposition.

In the meantime, all unconscious of the awful happening that was to have
such an influence upon his future, Mr. Roosevelt had been enjoying
himself with his family, and helping to take care of the children that
were not yet totally recovered from their illness. All seemed to be
progressing finely, and he had gone off on a little tour to Vermont, to
visit some points of interest and deliver a few addresses.

He was at Isle La Motte, not far from Burlington, when the news reached
him that President McKinley had been shot. He had just finished an
address, and for the moment he could not believe the sad news.

"Shot!" he said. "How dreadful!" And could scarcely say another word. He
asked for the latest bulletin, and, forgetful of all else, took the
first train he could get to Buffalo, and then hastened to the side of
his Chief.

It was truly a sad meeting. For many years these two men had known each
other, and they were warm friends. Their methods were somewhat
different, but each stood for what was just and right and true, and each
was ready to give his country his best service, no matter what the cost.

It was a sad time for the whole nation, and men and women watched the
bulletins eagerly, hoping and praying that President McKinley might
recover. Every hour there was some slight change, and people would talk
it over in a whisper.

In a few days there were hopeful signs, and the physicians, deceived by
them, said they thought the President would recover. This was glad news
to Theodore Roosevelt. Yet he lingered on, fearful to go away, lest the
news should prove untrue and he should be needed. But then there was a
still brighter turn, and he thought of his own family, and of the fact
that one of his children was again ill.

"I will return to my family," said he to two of his closest friends.
"But if I am needed here, let me know at once." And his friends promised
to keep him informed. Two days later he was back among the Adirondacks,
in the bosom of his family.

The prayers of a whole nation were in vain. William McKinley's mission
on earth was finished, and one week after he was shot he breathed his
last. His wife came to bid him farewell, and so did his other relatives,
and his friend of many years, Mark Hanna, and the members of his
Cabinet.

"It is God's way," murmured the dying Executive. "His will be done, not
ours." Then like a child going to sleep, he r