In spite of the fact that I was fully aware of all his absurdities and peccadilloes, the true greatness of the man remained, and still remains, undimmed in my mind. * * * * * High day. I walked along the path, past the little house where Baxter sequestered himself when he wished to be alone to think or write; it was close to my tent, around a corner of trees. I tiptoed religiously by it, went on up to the big house where the three women slept, as if drawn to their abode by a sort of heliotropism. The whole house stood in quiet, the embodiment of slumber. * * * * * A lank, flat-chested woman came up the path from the opposite direction ... dressed drab in one long, undistinguished gown like a Hicksite or Quaker, without the hood ... her head was bare ... her fine, brown hair plaited flat. "Good morning!" "Good morning," she replied, a query in her voice. "I am John Gregory, the poet," I explained. "I arrived yesterday on a visit to the Baxters." She said she had heard of me ... she opened the door and went into the house. I followed. She was the wife of Anarchist Jones, of whom I had already heard the household speak--as a difficult, recalcitrant member of the colony. The Joneses were very poor. They had two children and lived in a mere shack on the outskirts of the community. Jones was a shoemaker. His wife came twice a week to clean up and set things to rights in the Baxter menage--his two houses. I took care of the tent myself, while I was there.... By this time Darrie, Ruth, and Mrs. Baxter were up. I sat in the library, in the morris chair, deeply immersed in the life of Nietzsche, by his sister. Nevertheless I was not so preoccupied as not to catch fugitive glimpses of kimonos disappearing around door-corners ... women at their mysterious morning ritual of preparing themselves against the day. Comfortable of mind, at ease in heart and body, I sat there, dangling one leg over the arm of the chair. I was much at home in the midst of this easy, disjointed family group. * * * * * We were, the four of us--Darrie, Hildreth, Ruth, and I--seated together at our outdoor table, scooping out soft-boiled eggs. Hildreth Baxter had boiled my two eggs medium for me ... to the humorous, affected consternation of Darrie and Ruth, which they, of course, deliberately made visible to me, with the implication-- "You'd best look out, when Penton's lazy little wife waits on you ... she is the one who generally demands to be waited on, and if--" * * * * * And now, for the moment, all of us were combined against the master of the house ... furtively and jocularly combined, like naughty children.... Hildreth smuggled forth her coffee percolator, which she kept hidden from her husband's search ... and we soon, by the aid of an alcohol stove, had a cup of fragrant coffee a-piece ... which Darrie made....