double somersault was a recollection of his early days. You may imagine
with what awe we looked on him even though he now went on crutches. He was
the epitome of adventure, the very salt of excitement. It was better having
him than a pirate in the house. When the circus had gone and life was drab,
he was our tutor in the art of turning cart-wheels and making hand-stands
against the door.

And once, when we were away from him, he walked all morning about the
garden and in his loneliness he gathered into piles the pebbles that we had
dropped.

I was too young to know my grandfather in his active days when he was
prominent in public matters. His broader abilities are known to others. But
though more than twenty years have passed since his death, I remember his
tone of voice, his walk, his way of handling a crutch, all his tricks of
speech and conduct as though he had just left the room. And I can think of
nothing more beautiful than that a useful man who has faced the world for
seventy years and has done his part, should come back in his old age to the
nursery and be the playfellow of his grandchildren.

But the best holiday was a trip to the farm.

This farm--to which in our slow trot we have been so long a time in
coming--lay for a mile on the upper land, and its grain fields and pastures
looked down into the valley. The buildings, however, were set close to the
road and fixed their interest on such occasional wagons as creaked by. A
Switzer occupied the farm, who owned, in addition to the more immediate
members of his family, a cuckoo clock whose weights hung on long cords
which by Saturday night reached almost to the floor. When I have sat at his
table, I have neglected cheese and the lesser foods, when the hour came