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refer to it to the person who told it, because it may be just a mood. They have to tell it and I'm there. It has happened to me ever since I was quite a young person. When I was hardly more than a child, people told me things I wouldn't suppose they would tell to a young person of a wholly different generation. It has gone on all through my life. Even as Secretary of Labor, business men would sit down at a table and tell me about the sins, misdemeanors and wrong things they had done in their lives. It used to startle me. I also have the trick of losing track of most of those things. I don't recall them. I put it out of my mind for fear I shall reveal them.

This story of Mrs. Roosevelt's was very interesting. I won't rehearse it because it is practically the same story that she wrote years later in a book entitled, This is My Story. I have the picture vividly in my mind of sitting up in the Executive Mansion in this bedroom with two beds in it, fancy wall paper on the walls, and her telling me this story of how curious her life was.

She had been practically a waif, handed down from one relative to another relative. Her father, whom she loved so much, whom she admired so much, who gave so much pleasure and satisfaction to her life, turned out to be - as he was always, but had just come into her knowledge of being - a