If only he could have left a government in peace, but, for this new nation that he had worked a lifetime to build, it appeared sadly that there could be no peace. Off the coasts of his country British and French ships prowled and battled, seizing American shipping, taking off sailors at gunpoint, confiscating cargoes. Would James Madison be able to keep the nation out of another war? he worried, as he entered the disordered bedroom where his half-packed possessions were strewn about, books stacked on the floor, papers spread over the bed. Down below in some of the empty rooms of the mansion were piled other boxes of papers already sorted and made ready to travel by barge and wagon back to his “Little Mountain” in Albemarle County, his beloved Monticello. As he closed the door of the room, there was a little whistle and a whir of wings, and his pet mockingbird came charging through the air, all reaching feet and stiffened wings, to perch on Jefferson’s shoulder. “We’re going home, boy,” he told the bird, turning his face to avoid the inquisitive bill. “Burwell will see to it that you get back to Monticello safely, where all the other mockingbirds will probably be swollen with envy when they see you lording it over the place. No, I haven’t any sugar tonight. When we get home my grandchildren will feed you sugar till you’ll probably die of obesity.” He sat wearily on the side of the bed and began turning over papers, studying each, laying them in neat piles. There were too many of them but each was important to him. A soft rap came at the door; it opened a crack and his daughter, Martha Randolph, always called “Patsy,” put a turbaned head in. “Papa, may I come in?” “It would seem that you are already in,” he smiled. “You should be downstairs being gay with the rest of them.” “Oh, Papa, I’m an old woman now. I’m thirty-six. Old enough for caps and a chimney corner, too old for frolicking.” “The chimney corner hasn’t been built that can hold you long. You were born restless like your father. You always want to be on to the next activity, Patsy, no matter what it is.” “I didn’t come away down here through all that cold mud to dance and frivol,” she argued, arranging her wide skirt so she could sit beside him on the high bed. “I came to help you pack and fetch you home, but from the looks of things we’re doomed never to get there. What are all these pages and pages full of strange words?” “Look out!” He rescued some sheets from her hand. “Don’t mix them up.” He straightened the papers lovingly, his long freckled fingers deft. “These are my Indian vocabularies. I’ve been setting down words from the different Indian tongues, comparing them and trying to find a common origin.”