"All these months she has been working to interest her father in me, and now the baby is a year old, he has decided to help me.... We--Josephine and I--knew he would soften in time; you see he, too, loves Josephine and the Baby. So I want to go to them." "Yes," I said simply, for a sense of approaching loss had robbed me of my pretty speeches. "When you met me, I didn't know where to go, nor what to do," he said. "Yes." "I have flattered myself I have been some help to you in starting your work. Tell me have I made good to you?" "Yes." "I shall try to make good to Josephine's father." "Yes." Then in a few moments he said: "Now that it is time to go from you, I hate to leave you and the boys." "But you must go," I said, "your wife and child have the first claim." "Josephine wanted me to ask you for two or three rugs that the boys weave. We want them for our new home." "You may have them." And I took him by the hand, "Good-by, Sullivan." "Not Sullivan anymore, but McLean," he replied. As he turned away he said half regretfully, "It is the Passing of Sullivan." "I wonder if Richelieu, after all, lost his Friar Philip?" I asked myself as I waved my hand in farewell to him. [Illustration] WHEN SISTER CALLED "O Lord, That which I want is first bread--Thy decree, not my choice, that bread must be first."--_Sidney Lanier._ When Sister Called He came--did Jim--highly recommended by two fellows who live by their wits--one, Lakewood Joe and the other, Corduroy Tom. They are my friends, for they have told me they were. One of them always comes to me in the Winter anxious to get work on a farm; the other with a few broken umbrellas and a railroad spike for a hammer, starts out with the Springtime on the quest of "anything to mend." Umbrella mending was once a reputable calling, but it has fallen into disrepute since the introduction of the cheap umbrella. But that pathetic part of the story should be left for Lakewood Joe to tell, for it gets him--a humble mechanic--many a hot cup of coffee, many a dime. The recommendation by my two friends was sufficiently strong to nearly cause me to refuse admission to young Jim. But his manner pleased me and our reception committee--made up of members of the Family--assured me that we had no need to fear poor Jim. Anyway he who has nothing can safely make friends with whomever he chooses. Jim told us that years ago he had been a "cookie"--please note the "ie"--in a lumber camp in an Eastern State. So when a vacancy occurred in the culinary department of our home Jim was selected for the place. He proved an excellent assistant and worked for the house--as the phrase goes--he made the coffee so weak, he made the potato soup go so far, that I, economical from habit and from necessity, would blush whenever one of the boys said that he enjoyed the good dinner. I need have had no fear for it was Jim's smile that made us all content with the simple fare. "A grand cook," the boys would say.