With great patience he strove to give me some knowledge of astronomy, and, because he so loved his subject, succeeded in imparting a rudimentary understanding of the science. The indoor lessons, with books and plates of the firmament, had a romantic interest; we believed in the Nebular Hypothesis then; it has doubtless long since been superseded. Mr. Bradford was at his best in the lessons in practical star-gazing. At night he wore a curious close-fitting cap. If the weather were cool, he wrapped a green knitted scarf about his neck and buttoned the tailoress’s coat over it. Walking by his side, up and down the garden at Green Peace, I made those lifelong friends, Sagittarius, Corona, Aquila, Cassiopeia, the greater and the lesser Dipper. In spite of my affection for several of my teachers, I did not love my lessons; life was so tremendously interesting, such great affairs were always going on about me! Much as I regret the wasted hours, I cannot think it strange that I began to live at a period when I ought to have been learning how to live. Writing of his own childhood, Henry James the elder says: “I am satisfied that, if there had been the least spiritual Divine leaven discernible within the compass of the family bond; if there had been the least subordination in it to any objective or public and universal ends, I should have been very sensitive to the fact. But there was nothing of the sort. Our family righteousness had as little felt relation to the public life of the world, as little connection with the hopes and fears of mankind, as the number and form of the rooms we inhabited, and we contentedly lived the same life of stagnant isolation from the race which the great mass of modern families live, its surface never dimpled by anything but the duties and courtesies we owed our private friends and acquaintances.” Our home was the exact opposite of this. A swift current of the world’s life flowed through our house. Great public questions, the causes of freedom, education, and the succoring of the weak and afflicted of our own and other lands took precedence over all private affairs. Among our guests were distinguished European travelers, political exiles, Greeks, Italians, Poles, Hungarians, who had sought refuge in our country and were made welcome at our table. “To ride the errand of the hour,” is a phrase my mother used in speaking of my father’s restless activity. Whether the errand took him to President Lincoln in Washington with a message from John Andrew, or to Crete with a shipload of food and clothing from Boston to help the Cretans in their fight for liberty, he was ready, booted and spurred for action. In his youth, he was given a Greek decoration, carrying the title of Chevalier. His friends gave him the nickname of “Chev”; I never heard my mother address him by any other name.