ting away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine he
introduced two delightful old ladies whom he knew, and who were never
surprised at anything that might happen. Whatever emergency arose, they
took it as a matter of course, and prepared to meet it. Mr. Stockton
amused himself at their expense by writing this story. He was not at
first interested in the Dusantes, and had no intention of ever saying
anything further about them. When there was a demand for knowledge of
the Dusantes Mr. Stockton did not heed it. He was opposed to writing
sequels. But when an author of distinction, whose work and friendship he
highly valued, wrote to him that if he did not write something about the
Dusantes, and what they said when they found the board money in the
ginger jar, he would do it himself, Mr. Stockton set himself to writing
The Dusantes.

I have been asked to give some account of the places in which Mr.
Stockton's stories and novels were written, and their environments. Some
of the Southern stories were written in Virginia, and, now and then, a
short story elsewhere, as suggested by the locality, but the most of his
work was done under his own roof-tree. He loved his home; it had to be a
country home, and always had to have a garden. In the care of a garden
and in driving, he found his two greatest sources of recreation.

[Illustration: CLAYMONT, MR. STOCKTON'S HOME NEAR CHARLES TOWN, WEST
VIRGINIA.]

I have mentioned Nutley, which lies in New Jersey, near New York. His
dwelling there was a pretty little cottage, where he had a garden, some
chickens, and a cow. This was his home in his editorial days, and here
Rudder Grange was written. It was a rented place. The next home we
owned. It stood at a greater distance from New York, at the place called
Convent, half-way between Madison and Morristown, in New Jersey. Here we
lived a number of years after Mr. Stockton gave up editorial work; and
here the greater number of his tales were written. It was a much larger
place than we had at Nutley, with more chickens, two cows, and a much
larger garden.

Mr. Stockton dictated his stories to a stenographer. His favorite spot
for this in summer was a grove of large fir-trees near the house. Here,
in the warm weather, he would lie in a hammock. His secretary would be
near, with her writing materials, and a book of her choosing. The book
was for her own reading while Mr. Stockton was "thinking." It annoyed
him to know he was being "waited for." H