280 Naturalist at Large 



We made together one gorgeous trip alone, up through 

 the Kapitachuan Lakes, not far from the southern end 

 of James Bay. He was eighteen at the time. We camped 

 for several weeks with some Indians, who, in no time, were 

 devoted to Bill, and we had splendid fishing. To cap it all, 

 Bill killed a bear, which was young enough to be delicious 

 to eat; and, as the weather was cool, it kept getting bet- 

 ter and better till the last tiny morsel was consumed. Bill 

 had a particularly pleasing, soft, quiet, sUghtly husky voice, 

 and while he was incHned to be somewhat self-contained, 

 nevertheless I have a feeling that he would not unlikely 

 have become a clergyman. He always followed the lesson 

 at Groton, where he sang in the choir, with his Greek 

 Testament. 



Bill and Mary B. were in some respects extraordinarily 

 alike, although she was, and still is, a Uttle golden-haired 

 sprig of a girl, in sharp contrast to her brother. We talked 

 about him the other day as I drove with her to Washington, 

 where she went to join her husband, who is on duty there 

 with the Army. It was a long and rather dreary drive, but 

 made tolerable by the fact that we seldom nowadays have 

 long, unbroken opportunities to chin and chatter together 

 freely. Mary B. also is one of the very few I know who 

 can put up contentedly with discomfort, as I think is well 

 indicated in her book. 



I have friends who have suffered the same sort of sor- 

 row which I went through following Bill's death when he 

 was a senior at Groton. The initial stages seem completely 

 unbearable, but gradually, with passing time, scar tissue 

 forms over the open wound; the memories grow sweeter 

 and more precious with the years, and finally almost com- 



