R. S. VEECH AND INDIAN HILL 



tlve man — making fire by friction. The spark be- 

 came a flame, and the woman who bore children 

 stood guard over it, while man, the hunter, roamed 

 in search of food and returned at nightfall armed 

 against hunger. Fire thus was the beginning of 

 home, and, through all subsequent ages, the poet 

 has sung of the sweetness and the tender graces of 

 the fireside. It was in the library of the mansion at 

 Indian Hill that Mr. Veech carefully weighed blood 

 lines in the balance, rejecting those found wanting, 

 and making such wise use of those which stood the 

 test as to place the farm in the front rank of breed- 

 ing establishments. When weary of complex prob- 

 lems, the lawn, the shrubbery, and the birds, which 

 seemed to court familiarity, diverted his mind and 

 stimulated afresh his love of the domestic fireside. 

 The man who succeeds as a breeder must think as 

 well as act. He cannot glide through life on but- 

 terfly wings. 



As I look from my study window, in the fading 

 light of a golden afternoon, out upon the withered 

 grass of the mesa, touched by the frosts of Novem- 

 ber, and at the mountains which notch the sky, re- 

 vealing foundations of impressive boldness and 

 strength, silent but overwhelming evidence of Om- 

 nipotence, memories of pleasant days at Indian Hill 

 rise up with R. S. Veech as the central figure of the 

 group, and, now that the sweetly cherished light of 

 my own home has gone out, a longing for the old 

 fireside steals over me. 



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