IT was a large and heavily laden family party that left the train at Westfield, New York. There was Grandfather Emerson carrying Grandmother Emerson's hat-box and valise; and there was their daughter, Lieutenant Roger Morton's wife, with a tall boy and girl, and a short girl and boy of her own, and a niece, Ethel, all burdened with the bags and bundles necessary for a night's comfort on the cars and a summer's stay at Chautauqua. "The trunks are checked through, Roger," said Mrs. Morton to her older son, "so you won't have to bother about them here."…
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