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the other trail led through the woods near the lake in the opposite direction and eventually came to another private cottage whose owner's name I can't remember but can remember that he had a daughter named Beatrice who took my eye besides liking her name  -- in fact, I think maybe her name was more attractive to me than she was. Our Babbie might have been named Beatrice if Willie had liked it. 

Mention of Beatrice leads me into the matter of the people at Lake Clear Inn and as far as I was concerned, the people made it. From my own little group on Highland Avenue and vicinity there were [[underlined]]Virginia Kingsbury[[/underlined]], my dream girl, Eleanor Grant, young Ed Powell, and Charlotte and Luke Leonard. Then the Lees had transferred also from Rustic Lodge and Ralph, Jr. and Fritz were simply great boys whom I was very fond of and had a circus with although Ralph was a couple of years older. The two Smallwood boys were good kids who knew the outdoors thoroughly, and put on "treasure hunts" for us kids, planting candy and other desirables along trails in the woods near the Inn. We'd spend a lot of time in the water and rowing the boats nearby. I'd caddy for my father when he struggled around the rugged Inn course. We'd just walk through the woods for the pleasure of feeling the springy pine needle trail under our feet and the satisfaction of learning to follow blazed trails here and there. We loved to pick blueberries and they were available by the gallon with little effort. The Inn had a small cigar and candy counter in the office where my favorite purchase was the small boxes of little gumdrops, displayed through an isenglass window in the box. The food at the Inn was quite good but I have one unpleasant memory of the dining room. We sat at a table with two other couples and the husband in one of them had a very disagreeable habit of starring at me as I sat directly across the table from him; why he did it, I don't know but he did it consistently until I felt like squirming in my chair. I'd sometimes try to return his stare and stare him down but I never could -- he'd just rivet his eyes on mine and never move them for what seemed like minutes at a time, and he was a severe looking guy, which didn't help. And although I was only ten years old, I can still remember the thrill of standing outside the Inn at night and looking at the brilliant summer stars and enjoying the crisp air and the odor of the pine forest. 

My father came up for the first week or two and then returned to Syracuse and tried to come up weekends thereafter. as a result of this arrangement, he and my mother exchanged letters almost daily which my mother kept and which did add a dimension to the Lake Clear experience which otherwise would be lacking and also shed some light on my father's work and life in Syracuse while there without his family. The following comments will attempt to cover the high spots of the 1912 letters: