And I did it, and
earned $200; whereupon Edward Wells, who was then a prosperous
druggist, offered to lend me what more I needed to buy the lots,
and the manager of our Press Bureau built me a house and took a
mortgage for all it cost. So before the next winter's snows we were
snug in the house that has been ours ever since, with a ridge of
wooded hills, the "backbone of Long Island," between New York and
us. The very lights of the city were shut out. So was the slum,
and I could sleep.
[Illustration: My Little Ones gathering Daisies for 'the Poors']
Fifteen summers have passed since. The house lies yonder, white
and peaceful under the trees. Long since, the last dollar of the
mortgage was paid and our home freed from debt.[Footnote: I have
had my study built on the back lawn so that I may always have it
before me, and have a quiet place at the same time, where "papa is
not to be disturbed." But, though I put it as far back as I could,
I notice that they come right in.] The flag flies from it on Sundays
in token thereof. Joy and sorrow have come to us under its roof.
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