Thursday, Oct 23, 1884 Have been painting all day in my studio, but do not get on as well as I could wish. Am painting a picture 15x18 from one of my studies of this fall. The Autumn color is fine now but I have not been off the hill. Gertrudes tree is rapidly changing to its splendid yellow. I am not in the mood for producing, there are so many anxious things in my mind. My father seems to get stronger but he does not like us to say he is improving. He seems not to want to recover and keeps saying he wants to die. I think he is lonely and dull as we are so quiet here and he can do nothing to occupy his mind. He still wishes me to help him dress and undress although today he went down to the wood shed and got a great piece of wood and split it up for kindling wood. I have a constant apprehensive dread of I know not what and cannot get into a quiet frame of mind. This is fatal to an artist. I must and do try to overcome it. I should feel easier if I thought Girard was getting on but he seems to me to be getting hopelessly involved. He seems to have no prudence and no foresight.
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