They called him a dabbler, a charlatan, a fool, a devil. I called him Grandfather.
In the Bostonian house where I was born, the window in my room looked out upon the seashore. It was my good fortune to start my life sickly. My parents believed that sunny little garret, full of breezes from the ocean, would help me take a better hold of health in my pallid and feverish infancy. When the illness all had passed, I still kept my happy little room, and saw in the sun every day.