The next morning we made the last stage of our
journey, our hearts filled with the joy of nearing
our new home. We all had an idea that we were
going to a farm, and we expected some resemblance
at least to the prosperous farms we had seen in New
England. My mother's mental picture was, natu-
rally, of an English farm. Possibly she had visions
of red barns and deep meadows, sunny skies and
daisies. What we found awaiting us were the four
walls and the roof of a good-sized log-house, stand-
ing in a small cleared strip of the wilderness, its doors
and windows represented by square holes, its floor
also a thing of the future, its whole effect achingly
forlorn and desolate. It was late in the afternoon
when we drove up to the opening that was its front
entrance, and I shall never forget the look my
mother turned upon the place. Without a word
she crossed its threshold, and, standing very still,
looked slowly around her. Then something within
her seemed to give way, and she sank upon the
ground. She could not realize even then, I think,
that this was really the place father had prepared
for us, that here he expected us to live. When she
finally took it in she buried her face in her hands,
and in that way she sat for hours without moving or
speaking. For the first time in her life she had for-
gotten us; and we, for our part, dared not speak to
her. We stood around her in a frightened group,
talking to one another in whispers. Our little world
had crumbled under our feet. Never before had