was that one. Mr. Dye had got a foothold in the practice of the law before the first year was up, so I resigned my position as teacher and went back to my first love-writing.
The rearing of four children, all of whom, like herself, became college graduates, caused little serious drawback to her writing of books. Far from dramatizing the difficulties of a regular practice of literary composition along with the duties of motherhood, she has explained in various interviews how simple it was:
When my children were in sight, I always wrote better. If I didn't know where they were I simply couldn't do anything, and it is a singular fact that some of my best work has been done when there was considerable noise around me. They never caused me much trouble, and, besides, I usually had a girl to help me. Of course, all four of them were not young at once. Ten years separated the first two from the last two. When I had to make a trip to the East—and I had to four times—Mr. Dye's sister always stayed with the family.
Mrs. Dye is small, with thick hair which is now gray, and with keen brown eyes. Her great energy and high spirits are apparent in her quick movements and rapid speech. Her sunny temperament and strong nerves, have kept her from being irritated, as Joaquin Miller was, by the innocent importunities of children, and have allowed her to carry on creative work in the midst of noise or interruptions or any sort of bother. For most, such an environment would have first meant effort with futility; then a short protest of ambition, during which it would have been tough on both the writing and the children; and, finally, resignation, with the customary reminiscent remark on occasions: "I would have been a writer—if." Mrs. Dye, on the other hand, is the author of a few poems, a quantity
