be much harder. But if the new wife proved
to be sickly, matters would be different, and so she fretted, as we
have seen, while the doctor comforted her with the assurance that
Mrs. Kennedy was only tired--that she was naturally well and strong,
and would undoubtedly be of great assistance when the novelty of her
position had worn away.

While this conversation was taking place Mrs. Kennedy was examining
her chamber and thinking many pleasant things of John, whose
handiwork was here so plainly visible. All the smaller and more
fanciful pieces of furniture which the house afforded had been
brought to this room, whose windows looked out upon the lake and the
blue hills beyond. A clean white towel concealed the marred
condition of the washstand, while the bed, which was made up high
and round, especially in the middle, looked very inviting with its
snowy spread. A large stuffed rocking chair, more comfortable than
handsome, occupied the center of the room, while better far than
all, the table, the mantel, and the windows were filled with
flowers, which John had begged from the neighboring gardens, and
which seemed to smile a welcome upon the weary woman, who, with a
cry of delight, bent down and kissed them through her tears.

"Did these come from your garden?" she asked of Nellie, who, child-like,
answered, "We haint any flowers. Pa won't let John plant any.
He told Aunt Kelsey the land had better be used for potatoes, and
Aunt Kelsey said he was too stingy to live."

"Who is Aunt Kelsey?" asked Mrs. Kennedy, a painful suspicion
fastening itself upon her that the lady's opinion might be correct.

"She is pa's sister Charlotte," answered Nellie, "and lives in
Rochester, in a great big house, with the handsomest things; but she
don't come here often, it's so heathenish, she says."

Here spying John, who was going with the oxen to the meadow, she ran
away, followed by Maude, between whom and herself there was for the
present a most amicable understanding. Thus left alone Mrs. Kennedy
had time for thought, which crowded upon her so fast that, at last
throwing herself upon the bed, she wept bitterly, half wishing she
had never come to Laurel Hill, but was still at home in her own
pleasant cottage. Then hope whispered to her of a brighter day, when
things would not seem to her as they now did. She would fix up the
desolate old house, she thought; the bare windows which now so
stared her in the face should be shaded with p