11, St. James's Place,
St. James's Street, S. W.
London.
June, 1902.
[DEAR MOTHER: — ]
This is only to say that at the Kipling's we heard the
news, and being two newspaper men, refused to believe it and
went to the postoffice of the little village to call up
Brighton on the 'phone. It was very dramatic,
the real laureate of the British Empire asking if the
King were really in such danger that he could not be crowned,
while the small boy in charge of the grocery shop, where the
postoffice was, wept with his elbows on the counter. They
sent me my ticket — unasked — for the Abbey, early this
morning,
and while I was undecided whether to keep it — or send it back,
this came. So, now, I shall frame it as a souvenir of one of
the most unhappy occasions I ever witnessed. You can form no
idea of what a change it has made. It really seems to have
stunned every one — that is the usual and accepted word, but
this time it describes it perfectly.
Goodbye,
DICK.
During the summer of 1903 my mother and father occupied a
cottage at Marion, and every morning Richard started the day
by a visit to them. My brother had already bought his
Crossroads Farm at Mount Kisco, and the new house was one of
the favorite topics of their talk. The following letter was
written by my mother to Richard, after her return to
Philadelphia.
