heard references made to his descent, and he did his best to discourage
them then. Most of these fine red-haired men, I learned afterward laid
their bones on the bloody plateau overlooking Quebec.

Far fresher in my recollection than these rumors of war is the fact that
my Tulp caught the small-pox, in the spring of '60, the malady having been
spread by a Yankee who came up the Valley selling sap-spouts that were
turned with a lathe instead of being whittled. The poor little chap was
carried off to a sheep-shed on the meadow clearing, a long walk from our
house, and he had to remain there by himself for six weeks. At my urgent
request, I was allowed to take his food to him daily, leaving it on a
stone outside and then discreetly retiring. He would come out and get it,
and then we would shout to each other across the creek. I took up some of
our dolls to him, but he did not get much comfort out of them, being
unable to remember any of the stories which I illustrated with them, or to
invent any for himself. At his suggestion I brought him instead a piece of
tanned calf-skin, with a sailor's needle and some twine, and the little
fellow made out of this a lot of wallets for his friends, which had to be
buried a long time before they could be safely used. I have one of these
yet--mildewed with age, and most rudely stitched, but still a very
precious possession.

Tulp came out finally, scarred and twisted so that he was ever afterward
repellent to the eye, and as crooked as Richard the Third. I fear that
Daisy never altogether liked him after this. To me he was dearer than
ever, not because my heart was tenderer than hers, of course, but because
women are more delicately made, and must perforce shudder at ugliness.

How happily the years went by! The pictures in my memory, save those of
the snug winter rooms already referred to, are all of a beautiful Valley,