A Rally 
to leave home for a change. So, in the summer 
of 1914 (it was June, to be precise) he was 
persuaded to spend a few days—nearly a week 
in all—in my house. 
I cannot remember how he managed the 
journey. Did he sit in his bath-chair in the 
guard’s van? At any rate he came here from 
the railway station in his bath-chair, his daughter 
watching over him like an anxious mother over a 
sick child; and within limits he was as pleased as 
a careless visitor to the seaside. ‘The limits, to 
be sure, were narrow. He could not move from 
one chair to another without help. Sometimes 
pain in his thighs drew groans from him and 
he was near to fainting. To get upstairs—his 
bedroom had to be upstairs—he was obliged to 
go sitting up one step at a time, with somebody 
at the landing to lift him finally into the chair 
put for him there; and in some such way, I 
believe, he got down again o’ mornings, after I 
had gone to my work. This sort of thing 
severely limited his enjoyment. Much of the 
garden he had liked of old was out of his reach 
on any terms. 
On the other hand, his bath-chair gave him 
opportunities almost new to him. It furnished 
a comfortable seat in shady places he had never 
thought of until now, when he could be wheeled 
to them and could rest for hours. Better still, 
143 
