d boasted of the little
fellow and loved to show him off. How little I understood!

I bring myself to tell these intimate things because there is a lesson
in them for other women--because I resent that any free-born American
citizen should be handicapped by lacking so small and easily acquired a
possession as poise, poise that comes with knowledge of the simple rules
of the social game. It is my hope that this honest confession of my own
feelings, due directly to lack of training, may help other women, and
particularly other mothers whose children are now in the plastic years.

It was my utter lack of appreciation of manners and customs in my
husband's class that estranged me from Tom. I was resentful and
antagonistic merely because I was different.

My husband was suffering even as I was suffering; but no one realized
it, least of all myself. Every one was especially kind to me, because I
was a woman. People are rarely attentive and tender with men when loss
comes. Men are supposed to be strong and self-controlled; their hearts
are rated as a little less deep and tender than the hearts of women; yet
when men are truly hurt they need love and care even as little children.

A month after the baby's death, Tom and I were walking along the
Embankment in London one Saturday afternoon, when we met a small girl
carrying a little child. The baby was too tired to walk any farther; it
was dirty, and was crying bitterly. Tom stopped, spoke to the girl, and
offered to carry the baby, who soon quieted down on Tom's shoulder. At
the end of that walk Tom's light summer suit was ruined. I expected him
to turn with some trivial, jesting remark, but he said nothing. I
looked at him and saw that his face was set and hard and his eyes wet.
Without looking at me, he said: "Don't speak to me now."

That moment of silence revealed to me my husband's character better than
months of talking.

The next day my husband came to me and said: "Mary, I have asked for a
leave of absence. We are going back to the United States. We are going
out West to have a visit with your family."

Two years before I had believed that Tom would not fit into my
Northwest. But in twenty-four hours Tom and my father were old pals.
He was as much at home with mother and the children as I, and all the
neighbors liked him. He was interested in everything on the ranch, and
even in the small-town life of the village. He interested father in
putting