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and tragic deathbut I will not think of that now。
Jean's mother always devoted two or three weeks to Christmas
shopping； and was always physically exhausted when Christmas Eve
came。 Jean was her very own childshe wore herself out present…
hunting in New York these latter days。 Paine has just found on
her desk a long list of namesfifty； he thinkspeople to whom
she sent presents last night。 Apparently she forgot no one。 And
Katy found there a roll of bank…notes； for the servants。
Her dog has been wandering about the grounds today；
comradeless and forlorn。 I have seen him from the windows。 She
got him from Germany。 He has tall ears and looks exactly like a
wolf。 He was educated in Germany； and knows no language but the
German。 Jean gave him no orders save in that tongue。 And so
when the burglar…alarm made a fierce clamor at midnight a
fortnight ago； the butler； who is French and knows no German；
tried in vain to interest the dog in the supposed burglar。 Jean
wrote me； to Bermuda； about the incident。 It was the last letter
I was ever to receive from her bright head and her competent hand。
The dog will not be neglected。
There was never a kinder heart than Jean's。 From her
childhood up she always spent the most of her allowance on
charities of one kind or another。 After she became secretary and
had her income doubled she spent her money upon these things with
a free hand。 Mine too； I am glad and grateful to say。
She was a loyal friend to all animals； and she loved them
all； birds； beasts； and everythingeven snakesan inheritance
from me。 She knew all the birds； she was high up in that lore。
She became a member of various humane societies when she was
still a little girlboth here and abroadand she remained an
active member to the last。 She founded two or three societies
for the protection of animals； here and in Europe。
She was an embarrassing secretary； for she fished my
correspondence out of the waste…basket and answered the letters。
She thought all letters deserved the courtesy of an answer。
Her mother brought her up in that kindly error。
She could write a good letter； and was swift with her pen。
She had but an indifferent ear music； but her tongue took to
languages with an easy facility。 She never allowed her Italian；
French； and German to get rusty through neglect。
The telegrams of sympathy are flowing in； from far and wide；
now； just as they did in Italy five years and a half ago； when
this child's mother laid down her blameless life。 They cannot
heal the hurt； but they take away some of the pain。 When Jean
and I kissed hands and parted at my door last； how little did we
imagine that in twenty…two hours the telegraph would be bringing
words like these：
〃From the bottom of our hearts we send out sympathy；
dearest of friends。〃
For many and many a day to come； wherever I go in this house；
remembrancers of Jean will mutely speak to me of her。 Who can
count the number of them？
She was in exile two years with the hope of healing her
maladyepilepsy。 There are no words to express how grateful I
am that she did not meet her fate in the hands of strangers； but
in the loving shelter of her own home。
〃MISS JEAN IS DEAD！〃
It is true。 Jean is dead。
A month ago I was writing bubbling and hilarious articles
for magazines yet to appear； and now I am writingthis。
CHRISTMAS DAY。 NOON。Last night I went to Jean's room at
intervals； and turned back the sheet and looked at the peaceful
face； and kissed the cold brow； and remembered that heartbreaking
night in Florence so long ago； in that cavernous and silent vast
villa； when I crept downstairs so many times； and turned back a
sheet and looked at a face just like this oneJean's mother's
faceand kissed a brow that was just like this one。 And last
night I saw again what I had seen thenthat strange and lovely
miraclethe sweet； soft contours of early maidenhood restored by
the gracious hand of death！ When Jean's mother lay dead； all
trace of care； and trouble； and suffering； and the corroding
years had vanished out of the face； and I was looking again upon
it as I had known and worshipped it in its young bloom and beauty
a whole generation before。
About three in the morning； while wandering about the house
in the deep silences； as one dies in times like these； when there
is a dumb sense that something has been lost that will never be
found again； yet must be sought； if only for the employment the
useless seeking gives； I came upon Jean's dog in the hall
downstairs； and noted that he did not spring to greet me；
according to his hospitable habit； but came slow and sorrowfully；
also I remembered that he had not visited Jean's apartment since
the tragedy。 Poor fellow； did he know？ I think so。 Always when
Jean was abroad in the open he was with her； always when she was
in the house he was with her； in the night as well as in the day。
Her parlor was his bedroom。 Whenever I happened upon him on the
ground floor he always followed me about； and when I went
upstairs he went tooin a tumultuous gallop。 But now it was
different： after patting him a little I went to the libraryhe
remained behind； when I went upstairs he did not follow me； save
with his wistful eyes。 He has wonderful eyesbig； and kind； and
eloquent。 He can talk with them。 He is a beautiful creature；
and is of the breed of the New York police…dogs。 I do not like
dogs； because they bark when there is no occasion for it； but I
have liked this one from the beginning； because he belonged to
Jean； and because he never barks except when there is occasion
which is not oftener than twice a week。
In my wanderings I visited Jean's parlor。 On a shelf I
found a pile of my books； and I knew what it meant。 She was
waiting for me to come home from Bermuda and autograph them； then
she would send them away。 If I only knew whom she intended them
for！ But I shall never know。 I will keep them。 Her hand has
touched themit is an accoladethey are noble； now。
And in a closet she had hidden a surprise for mea thing I
have often wished I owned： a noble big globe。 I couldn't see it
for the tears。 She will never know the pride I take in it； and
the pleasure。 Today the mails are full of loving remembrances
for her： full of those old； old kind words she loved so well；
〃Merry Christmas to Jean！〃 If she could only have lived one day
longer！
At last she ran out of money； and would not use mine。 So
she sent to one of those New York homes for poor girls all the
clothes she could spareand more； most likely。
CHRISTMAS NIGHT。This afternoon they took her away from her
room。 As soon as I might； I went down to the library； and there
she lay； in her coffin； dressed in exactly the same clothes she
wore when she stood at the other end of the same room on the 6th
of October last； as Clara's chief bridesmaid。 H