unearned burden of
illness on Jean and shadowed her life.

They were days not wholly without humor--none of his days could be
altogether without that, though it was likely to be of a melancholy
sort.

Many of the letters offered orthodox comfort, saying, in effect: "God
does not willingly punish us."

When he had read a number of these he said:

"Well, why does He do it then? We don't invite it. Why does He give
Himself the trouble?"

I suggested that it was a sentiment that probably gave comfort to the
writer of it.

"So it does," he said, "and I am glad of it--glad of anything that gives
comfort to anybody."

He spoke of the larger God--the God of the great unvarying laws, and
by and by dropped off to sleep, quite peacefully, and indeed peace came
more and more to him each day with the thought that Jean and Susy and
their mother could not be troubled any more. To Mrs. Gabrilowitsch he
wrote:

REDDING, CONN, December 29, 1909.

O, Clara, Clara dear, I am so glad she is out of it & safe--safe!

I am not melancholy; I shall never be melancholy again, I think.

You see, I was in such distress when I came to realize that you were
gone far away & no one stood between her & danger but me--& I could
die at any moment, & then--oh then what would become of her! For
she was wilful, you know, & would not have been governable.

You can't imagine what a darling she was that last two or three
days; & how fine, & good, & sweet, & noble--& joyful, thank Heaven!
--& how intellectually brilliant. I had never been acquainted with
Jean before. I recognized that.

But I mustn't try to write about her--I can't. I have already
poured my heart out with the pen, recording that last day or two.
I will send you that--& you must let no one but Ossip read it.

Good-by. I love you so! And Ossip.
FATHER.

CCXC. THE RETURN TO BERMUDA

I don't think he attempted any further writing for print. His mind
was busy with ideas, but he was willing to talk, rather than to write,
rather even than to play billiards, it seemed, although we had a few
quiet games--the last we should ever play together. Evenings he asked
for music, preferring the Scotch airs, such as "Bonnie Doon" and "The
Campbells are Coming." I remember that once, after playing the latter
for him, he told, with great feeling, how the Highlanders, led by Gen.
Co