myself the task of depicting
certain phases of mountain life, it was inevitable that I should
ultimately bring my workshop to Chicago which was my natural pivot, the
hinge on which my varied activities would revolve. And, finally, to live
here would enable me to keep in closer personal touch with my father and
mother in the Wisconsin homestead which I had fully determined to
acquire.

Following this decision, I returned to Boston, and at once announced my
plan to Howells, Flower and other of my good friends who had meant so
much to me in the past. Each was kind enough to express regret and all
agreed that my scheme was logical. "It should bring you happiness and
success," they added.

Alas! The longer I stayed, the deeper I settled into my groove and the
more difficult my removal became. It was not easy to surrender the busy
and cheerful life I had been leading for nearly ten years. It was hard
to say good-bye to the artists and writers and musicians with whom I had
so long been associated. To leave the Common, the parks, the Library and
the lovely walks and drives of Roxbury, was sorrowful business--but I
did it! I packed my books ready for shipment and returned to Chicago in
May just as the Exposition was about to open its doors.

Like everyone else who saw it at this time I was amazed at the grandeur
of "The White City," and impatiently anxious to have all my friends and
relations share in my enjoyment of it. My father was back on the farm in
Dakota and I wrote to him at once urging him to come down. "Frank will
be here in June and we will take charge of you. Sell the cook stove if
necessary and come. You _must_ see this fair. On the way back I will go
as far as West Salem and we'll buy that homestead I've been talking
about."

My brother whose season closed about the twenty-fifth of May, joined me
in urging them not to miss the fair and a few days later we were both
delighted and a little surprised to get a letter from mother telling us
when to expect them. "I can't walk very well," she explained, "but I'm
coming. I am so hungry to see my boys that I don't mind the long
journey."

Having secured rooms for them at a small hotel near the west gate of the
exposition grounds, we were at the station to receive them as they came
from the train surrounded by other tired and dusty pilgrims of the
plains. Father was in high spirits and mother was looking very well
considering the tiresome ride of nearly seven hundred