Crawford was incorrigible, and insisted that he must be doctored up in order to finish his tour. This physician assured me that the case was very serious, and gave me some medicine and some directions about how to act in case there should be further attacks. We continued on to Victoria, B. C., and back to Helena, Mont., a town that we had been advised to skip owing to its high altitude. The San Francisco doctor had insisted that it would not do for Mr. Crawford to venture twelve thousand feet above sea-level in Helena. It did no good. We went to Helena. Mr. Crawford gave two lectures there to the two largest audiences we had between the Pacific Ocean and the Missouri River. Then we went on to Winnipeg, and home. I was satisfied that Mr. Crawford’s days were numbered. I had promised to say nothing to any one about it, and I never did mention it, and would not do so now, were it not for the fact that Mr. Crawford has written me that he has fully recovered. During all the time Mr. Crawford kept up his writing, and was always cheerful. It was his wonderful power of abstraction and courage that carried him through this ordeal. We parted in Chicago. He was so anxious to hurry home that he took the fastest train, while I made $16 by arriving twelve hours later by another route. We exchanged several telegrams on our different routes. I put it down as one of the most enjoyable and delightful companionships that I have ever had. At the close of this six months’ tour Mr. Crawford sailed for his home in Italy, still in poor health. I hardly expected ever to see him again. I was lonesome without him, and busied myself at odd times with writing him letters, which he never answered. I feared he was ill, or that I had hurt his feelings in some way, but, to my delight, in due time the following letter came, which brought great joy to the Pond household: * * * * * “SANT’ AGNELLO DI SORRENTO, ITALY, “Dec. 16, 1898. “DEAR OLD MAJOR: “A Merry Christmas to you, and to Mrs. Pond, and Bim, and Miss Glass, and all the very best wishes of the season! I am not dead and buried, and as you may have supposed from a rude way I have of never answering a man’s letters till he has written about six times. But I have been very busy with my work, and between times with enjoying a long spell of home with my wife and children. Knowing how you hate Mrs. Pond and Bim, you will probably find this most extraordinary! You must try and get used to the idea. (This letter does not contain a request for a loan for five dollars at the end of it, so you may read it quite calmly--I just thought of that.)