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Jacob A. Riis (1849–1914). Theodore Roosevelt, the Citizen. 1904.

Page 313

among the foliage. The President stood at the rail surveying the scenes he loves. Here he had played as a boy, and dreamed a boy’s dreams; here he had grown to manhood; here his children were growing up around him, happy and healthy boys and girls. We passed a sandy bluff sloping sheer into the Sound from under its crown of trees.
  “See,” he said, pointing to it. “Cooper’s Bluff! Three generations of Roosevelts have raced down its slope. We did, only yesterday. Good run, that!”
  And as the Sylph swept by I made out three lines of track, hugging each other close,—a man’s long, sturdy stride and the smaller feet of Archie and Kermit racing their father downhill. Half-way down they had slipped and slid, scooping up the sand in great furrows. I could almost hear their shouts and laughter ringing yet in the woods.
  Sagamore Hill is the family sanctuary, whither they come back in June with one long sigh of relief that their holiday is in sight, in which they may have one another. No longer to themselves, it is true. The President is not permitted to be alone even in his own home.