s of stairs which led to
Hurd's little den above Washington Street, for there I felt myself a
little more of the literary man, a little nearer the current of American
fiction.

Let me repeat my appreciation of the fact that I met with the quickest
response and the most generous aid among the people of Boston. There was
nothing cold or critical in their treatment of me. My success,
admittedly, came from some sympathy in them rather than from any real
deserving on my part. I cannot understand at this distance why those
charming people should have consented to receive from me, opinions
concerning anything whatsoever,--least of all notions of
literature,--but they did, and they seemed delighted at "discovering"
me. Perhaps they were surprised at finding so much intelligence in a man
from the plains.

It was well that I was earning my own living at last, for things were
not going especially well at home. A couple of dry seasons had made a
great change in the fortunes of my people. Frank, with his usual
careless good nature as clerk in the store had given credit to almost
every comer, and as the hard times came on, many of those indebted
failed to pay, and father was forced to give up his business and go back
to the farm which he understood and could manage without the aid of an
accountant.

"The Junior" as I called my brother, being footloose and discontented,
wrote to say that he was planning to go farther west--to Montana, I
think it was. His letter threw me into dismay. I acknowledged once again
that my education had in a sense been bought at his expense. I recalled
the many weeks when the little chap had plowed in my stead whilst I was
enjoying the inspiration of Osage. It gave me distress to think of him
separating himself from the family as David had done, and yet my own
position was too insecure to warrant me promising much in his aid.
Nevertheless, realizing that mother would suffer less if she knew her
two sons were together, I wrote, saying, "If you have definitely decided
on leaving home, don't go west. Come to Boston, and I will see if I
cannot get you something to do."

It ended in his coming to Boston, and my mother was profoundly
relieved. Father gave no sign either of pleasure or regret. He set to
work once more increasing his acreage, vigorous and unsubdued.

Frank's coming added to my burden of responsibility and care, but
increased my pleasure in the city, for I now had someone to show it to.
He sec