We took a long walk to-day, with the three dogs, and it was pitiful to see how glad they were to be free of the cellar and a back yard and at large among grass and rocks and roots of trees.

I wanted to bottle up some of the air and send it to all of my friends in New York.

It is so much better to smell than hot-house violets.

Seaton came on with us to handle the dogs and to unpack and so to-day we are nearly settled already with silver, pictures, clothes and easels and writing things all in place.

The gramophone is whirling madly and all is well-- Lots and lots of love.
DICK.
The following was written by Richard to his mother on her birthday: MARION, MASSACHUSETTS.
June 27th, 1901.
DEAR MOTHER: In those wonderful years of yours you never thought of the blessing you were to us, only of what good you could find in us.