My daughter Helen was born in 1891, so for the last year in Washington I had two small babies to care for. In order that he might get a little much needed exercise Mr. Taft bought a horse and, fortunately, for us, he secured a most adaptable creature. He was supposed to be a riding horse, but he didn’t mind making himself generally useful. The Attorney General lent us a carriage which he was not then using⁠—a surrey, I think it was called⁠—and we hitched him to that; and the whole Taft family drove out of a Sunday afternoon to the Old Soldiers’ Home, which was the fashionable drive in those days, or up the aqueduct road to Cabin John’s bridge. My sister Maria who visited us used always to speak of our steed as “G’up,” a name suggested by Bobby’s interpretation of his father’s invocations to the good-natured and leisurely beast. Poor old “G’up”! I suppose with his “horse sense” he finally realised that he was leading such a double life as no respectable horse should lead; he gave up and died before we left Washington.