He sat more
often now in a large rocking-chair, and generally seemed to be looking
through half-dosed lids toward the Monadnock heights, that were always
changing in aspect-in color and in form--as cloud shapes drifted by or
gathered in those lofty hollows. White and yellow butterflies hovered
over the grass, and there were some curious, large black ants--the
largest I have ever seen and quite harmless--that would slip in and out
of the cracks on the veranda floor, wholly undisturbed by us. Now and
then a light flutter of wind would come murmuring up from the trees
below, and when the apple-bloom was falling there would be a whirl of
white and pink petals that seemed a cloud of smaller butterflies.
On June 1st I find in my note-book this entry:
Warm and pleasant. The dictation about Grant continues; a great
privilege to hear this foremost man, of letters review his
associations with that foremost man of arms. He remained seated
today, dressed in white as usual, a large yellow pansy in his
buttonhole, his white hair ruffled by the breeze. He wears his worn
morocco slippers with black hose; sits in the rocker, smoking and
looking out over the hazy hills, delivering his sentences with a
measured accuracy that seldom calls for change. He is speaking just
now of a Grant dinner which he attended where Depew spoke. One is
impressed with the thought that we are looking at and listening to
the war-worn veteran of a thousand dinners--the honored guest of
many; an honored figure of all.
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