to guard her boy? Why did one of the grandest men America has ever produced say, “All that I am, I owe to my mother." Why did Garfield, dying of his wound, scrawl a note to tell his mother "not to worry. When a boy becomes president, does he forget his mother? Did our first president? Did William Mc

Kinley?

My boy, growing every day, now comes up to my shoulder. And since he went to that fine school he writes me long, long letters and lately he has asked me questions like this: "Don't you ever go to card parties or have any good times?" "How are you off for money?" "I am O. K., are you all right? I hope you have good times in Jefferson, do you?" Yes, he is growing up. He does not know as yet, but some day he'll understand. Few big boys will allow the memory of their mother to be marred. They write me, "Your boy is a good boy." Of course, he is a good boy. I raised him and taught him for ten short years to be a good boy. And so far at that school he has had "A" in "Deportment" and "Sacred Studies."

And so you see that although all that time we were at Lake Stevens I did not go to card parties, clubs, theatres or amusements of any kind, heard no music and rode on no trains nor trolley cars, nor have new hats nor dresses, I don't begrudge the time. It was time well and gloriously spent, for I was watching constantly a lovely child and unless disaster overtakes him or death takes his mother, he will repay me yet.

This experience after our return from "Happy Valley" was the hardest yet. We could not feel safe any minute of the night or day. Encumbered by uncertainty each second was a moment of suspense. The present troubled and we imagined everything for the future. We felt like hunted, trembling animals feel when they look back and see a hunter in pursuit. For a long while I felt exhausted, listless and hopeless and every feeling of purpose seemed stunned, but the work and the splendid bracing air brought me through without a doctor and his medicine. In the morning going out early to let out my chickens I would throw back my shoulders and drink in that health-restoring air which no words can tell the bracing quality it has. "Winds blew their freshness, the storms their energy. My cares dropped off like autumn leaves." To be hidden here in our own home was the furtherest exile we had as yet experienced. My suspense every moment that something would happen was fearful, but my son's needs elicited my self-control and I taught and read to him and invented plays for him and did not let him feel what anguish of jeopardy I felt. While I was at work" Duke' took my place and amused the boy. One day Boyd would have him hitched to a little sulky, in harness, or to his "Junior" Studebaker wagon or another day he would dress him up in soldier cap and suit and call him "General Duke." The dog would look the part. Another day Boyd would fix up a dental office with a

good imitation of a dental chair of torture made by himself and the sliding shelf covered with real dental instruments a dentist fisherman had given him. Duke's teeth were crowned and filled. Another day Duke would be passenger in Boyd's "auto," which was well hidden beneath a splendid " Queen Anne" cherry tree and Boyd as chauffeur in chauffeur rig complete took long drives while I was finishing up my work. But my little boy was glad when it was finished and I could read to him again. Our opportunities were certainly restricted, but we did the best we could. After dark we would steal down to the boat-house and see if there were any fish on the lines we had set from the dock or we would take a fine row on the lake. There was one flat" duck boat" that was Boyd's especial delight and he could row it easily.

We needed money badly, so when a prominent Everett family asked to come out and camp in my orchard I readily consented, for they paid me generously and well. They would come out in a few days. I should not have consented, but you see fate was carrying me along and

"The winged shaft of fate" was thrown that June,

1908, but we did not realize it for

"Fate steals along with silent tread
Found oftenest in what least we dread,
Frowns in the storm with angry brow

But in the sunshine strikes the blow."

Yes, around our sunlit peace, black storm clouds were certainly gathering.

CHAPTER XX.

CAMPING SEASON AT LAKE STEVENS.

July had come, the schools were closed for the summer vacation and the school children were seeking places in the country where they could camp out and get a taste of "the call of the wild." The pruning man had been out and cut the worthless boughs and in the lesser shade of our orchard there was a little tented city. The school girls had a tent with wooden floor and sides, but the boys had theirs right on the ground like the Indian in his "tepee." The nights were cool and comfortable, but the days were bringing a little of the sultriness of the summer season. The bungalow was quiet no longer, for happy voices and laughter could be heard every moment of the day and into the night. Auto parties were driving up at all hours and all our boats were in great demand. How Boyd did enjoy the gayety and he was with the young people every minute. They had swimming parties and rowing parties and trips were taken to get good subjects for the different kodaks owned in camp. The land across the lake from us was being bought by Everett people for summer homes and a number of cottages were be