| How the Path Led to the White House [excerpt]      A little later they 
              [Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt] went to a hunting-lodge in the Adirondacks, 
              and all the world knows what happened on September 6, 1901. Then 
              came the great anxiety as to whether Mr. McKinley would recover 
              from the assassin’s onslaught, and on September 14, he succumbed 
              to the weakness engendered by his wound. While the dramatic drive 
              from the Adirondack Mountains, where Theodore Roosevelt was found, 
              was in process, I, the only member of the Roosevelt family near 
              New York, was inundated in my Orange Mountain home by reporters. 
              That evening after receiving a number of reporters and giving them 
              what slight information I could give, I said that I could not stand 
              the strain any longer, that I could not be interviewed any more, 
              and with the dear cousin, John Elliott, who had been our early childhood 
              companion, and who happened to be visiting me, I went into my writing-room, 
              shut the door to the world outside, and a strange coincidence occurred. 
              My sister-in-law, Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, had shortly before returned 
              to me a number of childhood letters which we had exchanged, first 
              as little children, and then as growing girls, for we had always 
              been very intimate friends. These letters were in a box on my writing-table, 
              and I said to my cousin John: “Let us forget all these terrible 
              things that are happening, and for a moment, at least, go back into 
              our merry, care-free past. Here are these letters. I am going to 
              pick one out at random and see how it will remind us of our childhood 
              days.”So speaking, I put my hand into the 
              box and proceeded to draw out a letter. Curiously enough, as I opened 
              the yellow envelope and the sheets fell from it, I saw that it was 
              dated from Washington in 1877, and looking more closely I read aloud 
              the words:
 “Dearest Corinne: Today, for the first 
              time, I went to the White House. Oh, how much I wished for you. 
              It seemed so wonderful to me to be in the old mansion which had 
              been the [204][205] home of President 
              Lincoln, and which is so connected with all our country’s history. 
              It gave me a feeling of awe and excitement. I wish you could have 
              been here to share the feeling with me, for I don’t suppose it is 
              likely that we shall ever be in the White House together, and it 
              would have been so interesting to have exchanged our memories of 
              things that had happened in that wonderful old house. But how unlikely 
              it is that you or I shall ever come in contact with anything connected 
              with the White House.”
 As I read these words, I exclaimed 
              with astonishment, for it did seem a curious freak of fate that 
              almost at the very moment that I was reading the lines penned by 
              the girl of fifteen, an unexpected turn of the wheel had made that 
              same young girl the lady of the White House.
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