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Riis, Jacob A., 1849-1914

"The Making of an American"

We walked
all night, and when at dawn we arrived, had the mortification of
being held up by the farmer's dog, who knew nothing about us. He
walked alongside of me all that day, as I was pushing the baby-carriage
up hill, eying me with a look that said plainly enough I had better
not make a move to sneak away with the child. Wells went on to the
city to replenish our funds.
And here I take leave of this loyal friend in the story of my life.
A better one I never had. He lived to grow rich in possessions,
but his wealth was his undoing. It is one of the sore spots in my
life--and there are many more than I like to think of--that when he
needed me most I was not able to be to him what I would and should
have been. We had drifted too far apart then, and the influence I
had over him once I had myself surrendered. It was so with Charles.
It was so with Nicolai. They come, sometimes when I am alone, and
nod to me out of the dim past: "You were not tempted. You should
have helped!" Yes, God help me! it is true. I am more to blame than
they. I should have helped and did not.


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