Thursday, July 7, 1887 Warm today but clear, rich atmosphere and North wind. A letter came from Gertrude thanking me for mine but intimating she would not come here. I told her we would always be glad to see her, as I had told her before, as long as we remained here. There was a hint of bitterness in all its kind expressions. I am no better and have kept quiet. It is a week this morning since our father died. It seems much longer. I wrote Mary Gifford.