Your letter of June 19 arrived just one day after we ought to have been in Elmira, N. Y. for the summer: but at the last moment the baby was siezedⒶemendation with scarlet fever. I had to telegraph & countermand the order for special sleeping car; & in fact we all had to fly around in a lively way & undo the patient preparations of weeks—rehabilitate the dismantled house, unpack the trunks, & so on. A couple of days later, the eldest child was taken down with so fierce a fever that she was soon delirious—not scarlet fever, however. Next, I myself was stretched on the bed with three diseases at once, & all of them fatal. But I never did care for fatal diseases if I could only have privacy & room to express myself concerning them. I soon recovered, but I am down again, now, swearing a relapse through. Between whiles, I’ve stood watch-&-watch through with Mrs. Clemens in the sick room.

We gave early warning, & of course nobody has entered the house in all this time but one or two reckless old bachelors—& they probably wanted to carry the disease to the children of former flames of theirs. The house is still in quarantine & must remain so for a week or two yet—at which time we are hoping to leave for Elmira.

Your letter came when we were in such a state of consternation & confusion that all writing was suspended—& has remained so until the present date. However, there was no hurry about replying; as what I mainly wanted to do (i. e., to beg you & Helen to give us at least a flying visit), was outside the possibilities. I certainly ought to have sent your check to the bank, to protect your accounts from confusion, but I don’t try to attend to anything, John, but things connected with the sick room.

We got a little bit of a touch-&-go visit out of Ben Coontz—only just enough to give Mrs. Clemens opportunity to take a strong liking to him & wish he would either stay longer or come again.

Helen wrote me. I wish you would thank her & send her this account of our adventures—(I’ve fumigated it.)