BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
AFTER a few years of residence in the city, Francis Bradley took his family to a new house in Evanston. It stood on a lot of nearly half a block frontage in Hinman Avenue south of Church Street. A fascinating lot this was, shaded by Evanston's eternal oaks; full of sweet odors and singing birds. There was country all about, woodland and meadow, and to the east, almost, it seemed, at the edge of the Bradley property, the lake shim mered beyond the trees.
One hears of Luther Bradley growing up in Evanston, a boy with brown wavy hair and dancing brown eyes, who shot up presently to an astonishing height, and who had just the best time a boy can have. His father encouraged him to be athletic, and to make things, and to be a manly fellow that was a father worth having: one who could beat the fellows jumping, and who could do nice carpentry work, and who kept a little astronomical observatory in the back yard, with a real telescope. Luther Bradley became a very strong-and masculine youngster, quite untamed by the fact that he had a houseful of sisters. He had at first three of these—Sarah Elizabeth and Eleanor, born in New Haven, and Louise Ruggles, born in Chicago. But before long he had another sister, Bessie, and still another, whom they named Mary Frances. Next came a brother, Francis, who died at a comparatively early age, and lastly Jessie, who was his "little sister" as long as he lived. Six sisters to admire him, to pull his hair, to criticize his neckties. And besides, in their abounding love for children, the Bradleys adopted the daughter of a relative, who made really a seventh sister, as dearly loved as any.
It is not hard to believe that the house was full of laughter, of April showers, and of quaint ambitions. But it was also full of Luther's boy friends, and his playthings, and their playthings; and there were always his dogs, and theirs, trooping through. Luther loved his sisters, but neither he nor his pursuits were dominated by them. He had his own especial
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