And so the growing-up years at Sunnycrest rolled on. For me, they were happier days than those that were to follow.

We had family picnics, and Sunday drives, (with frequent stops to fix flat tires) Sometimes we would have two or three flats on one Sunday outing. Daddy would uncomplainingly get out and jack up the wheel, while we would explore the local scene, collecting leaves or stones, or we would sit on the running board and wait.

Too bad that cars no longer have have running-boards. They were a wonderful invention. They were designed as a step, but they made a perfect place to sit.

One of my favorite expeditions was to drive to the grocery store with Glad. This was no supermarket, but Glad had learned that they had the best meat in town. She was a very choosy shopper. When the screen door squeeked shut behind us, I could smell the fresh sawdust on the floor and coffee beans being ground in the hand-cranked grinder. There were shiny glass jars of licorice whips and jaw breakers up on a tall counter, way out of reach of young fingers, while down lower were bins of dry staples like rice and rolled oats and crackers. Overhead, fans whirred, with coils of flypaper swaying in their breeze.

I followed Glad past all these enticing sights and smells, feeling the sawdust getting into my sandals as I slowly scuffled behind her. She held a shopping list in her hand, and she had no time for brosing, with a staff of servants to supervise back up at Sunnycrest. At the rear of the store was the meat department where a butcher in a white, but bloody apron was slicing meat. Glad asked for the cut of meat she wanted and the man disappeared into the cold-storage room where the wall was stacked with big cubes of sawdusted ice. When he emerged, a frosty cloud of vapor followed him until the heavy door thudded shut.

He held up a thick slab of meat for Glad's inspection, but she wasn't satisfied, and sent him back to select a better one. Finally a piece met Glad's approval, and the butcher trimmed it with expert flashes of his sharp knife. Then he started to wrap it up, but Glad held up her hand.

"Put it through the meat grinder two times," she directed, and I saw the man's lips tighten in disapproval as he followed her directions. I guessed that he thought it was sinful to grind up "such a good cut of steak," but the resulting meat patties were my very favorite dish.

I was almost ten when my happy-go-lucky childhood at Sunnycrest came to an abrupt end. My poor mother had suffered a really major relapse, and this time the doctors held no hope that she could ever be completely free of tuberculosis, or lead any sort of normai life. She must return to Saranac immediately and resign herself to becoming a bed-ridden invalid. This tragic news changed all our lives. Dad's strong attaction for Glad had to be relinquished to meet his responsibilities.

He told mother that now he would not consider their talked-about divorce. He would never desert her under these circumstances. He would stand by her and get her the best treatment available. Probably, the Madison gossips thought that he had made a "noble gesture," but for my father and Glad, it must have been a heartbreaking decision. (I learned these details from Dad many years later.)

On the day that Mother was to depart, she wanted to create a lasting memory. So She asked me to look back at her sieeping porch on my way to school. That morning as I walked through her flower garden, and across Bybee's vacant lot on my way to Patty's house, I turned and looked up, stumbling and sniffling as I went, and there she stood in a window, wearing her lovliest dressing gown, waving a white handkercheif. She knew that I would never forget that last sight of her at Sunnycrest.

Of course we children weren't aware of the heart-wrenching decisions that were being made. After Mother left, we were told that we were going to move away from Madison. Sunnycrest was going to be put on the market; sold to some other family.

Move away? I couldn't grasp the idea of moving. Never more would I live at Sunnycrest, or play with Patty, or swing under the old apple tree. What would happen to Jack? Where would we move? Yeaman and I were told that we would go to the best private boarding schools in New England, and Daddv would live in an apartment in New York City.

Boarding school? What was that?

I had a lot to learn.