e names. I have not the space allowed
by the printer for I have many important facts still to tell.

From September 1, 1901, to December 31, 1901, I received 1,666 calls
from friends and strangers alike, young and old, and not one came
empty handed. My rooms were redolent with the odor of floral tributes
that were constantly supplied by some kind friend or stranger. I
cannot pass over an episode that occurred March 29, 1902. I had passed
a restless day and about four o'clock in the afternoon Mrs. James
Melvin came in and brought an offering of fruit from her father's
ranch. During our conversation she thought I looked tired and I told
her I was. I tried to sit up and I could not find a chair that suited,
although I had several sent from the stores. I saw she was distressed
about it but said nothing more and went home. About nine o'clock of
the same evening the bell rang. I had already retired. Soon I heard
voices and in a few moments Mr. and Mrs. Melvin stood before me,
smiling, and between them was a fine bamboo chair. After Mr. Melvin
came home from the city and while they were at dinner, Mrs. Melvin had
told him of my trouble in obtaining the proper chair. They lived on
Grove and Nineteenth streets and I on Thirteenth street between
Webster and Harrison streets. It was too late to have the chair sent
and these two kind-hearted people carried it all that distance to my
studio, and there it was for me to use. It was not possible for me to
hold back my tears at such a token of sympathy and affection. I'll
never forget how dear they looked, like two happy children bringing a
favorite toy to the sick child in the fairy stories we all know and
teach to our children. After I could compose myself I begged the nurse
to let me get up and try the new chair and when I was ready the
whole-souled James lifted me and placed me in the chair. Oh, what a
comfort at last! I could sit up without weariness and I was loath to
go once more to my couch. I begged just for one hour more and I
promised I'd sing for them. They looked astonished, not thinking I
could sing. I said, "listen" and sang three verses of Annie Laurie.
When I got through there was not a sound. They were sitting there like
statues and with tears in their eyes. I saw the situation and let out
a merry laugh, saying, "Was it then so bad you had to cry?" They said
the singing was so far away it was not like an earthly voice. Knowing
what I had suffered and was still sufferin