y and wishing him the success he deserved.

Almost by return mail came his reply thanking me for my good wishes and
expressing a desire to meet me. "We are almost always at home on Sunday
and shall be very glad to see you whenever you can find time to come."

A couple of weeks later--as soon as I thought it seemly--I went out to
Ashmont to see them, for my interest was keen. I knew no one connected
with the stage at this time and I was curious to know--I was almost
frenziedly eager to know the kind of folk the Hernes were.

My first view of their house was a disappointment. It was quite like any
other two-story suburban cottage. It had a small garden but it faced
directly on the walk and was a most uninspiring color. But if the house
disappointed me the home did not. Herne, who looked older than when on
the stage, met me with a curiously impassive face but I felt his
friendship through this mask. Katharine who was even more charming than
"Mary Miller" wore no mask. She was radiantly cordial and we were
friends at once. Both persisted in calling me "professor" although I
explained that I had no right to any such title. In the end they
compromised by calling me "the Dean," and "the Dean" I remained in all
the happy years of our friendship.

Not the least of the charms of this home was the companionship of
Herne's three lovely little daughters Julie, Chrystal and Dorothy, who
liked "the Dean"--I don't know why--and were always at the door to greet
me when I came. No other household meant as much to me. No one
understood more clearly than the Hernes the principles I stood for, and
no one was more interested in my plans for uniting the scattered members
of my family. Before I knew it I had told them all about my mother and
her pitiful condition, and Katharine's expressive face clouded with
sympathetic pain. "You'll work it out," she said, "I am sure of it," and
her confident words were a comfort to me.

They were true Celts, swift to laughter and quick with tears; they
inspired me to bolder flights. They met me on every plane of my
intellectual interests, and our discussions of Herbert Spencer, Henry
George, and William Dean Howells often lasted deep into the night. In
all matters concerning the American Drama we were in accord.

Having found these rare and inspiring souls I was not content until I
had introduced them to all my literary friends. I became their publicity
agent without authority and without pay, for I fel