The oldest one of them, a boy of sixteen, was named Donald. Then came a
set of lively boy twins of fourteen, who had been baptized "Joseph" and
"James", but who were for convenience called Joe and Jim. These twins
resembled each other so closely that only their parents and intimate
acquaintances could tell them apart. They were inseparable companions,
and full of boyish mischief. The fourth child, the pet of everybody,
was a beautiful, doll-like baby girl of three, whose name was Helen.

[Illustration: When I watched Baby Helen repeat her evening prayer, I
turned away, for I realized that I missed that what is most sublime in
all creation: A loving wife and devoted mother; a healthy baby and one's
own "Home, sweet Home."]

There was one singular imperfection about these children, that they had
inherited from their father, which was a freak growth of an inch-wide
streak of white hair which started from the center of their heads and
continued downwards to the base of their skulls, and which as it showed
plainly in their black hair made this strange birth-mark all the more
conspicuous. Otherwise they were mentally, morally and physically
perfect, and while I was convalescing I often stood by the window and
watched them at play in the snow and it caused me to shudder every time
I heard those youngsters shout with glee while they enjoyed the winter's
sports, when I thought of poor Peoria Red whom this same merciless snow
helped to murder.

In the evenings after supper had been served, I could see from the bunk
house window how baby Helen in her sleeping room across the road in the
section house knelt and humbly repeated her evening prayer, and then
just before she was put to rest for the night, her father would kiss her