,
threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my hand that I was decidedly
nervous. The intrepid little youngster burst his shell as he touched
Phoebe's apron, and has become the strongest and handsomest of the brood.

All this tending of downy young things, this feeding and putting to bed,
this petting and nursing and rearing, is such pretty, comforting woman's
work. I am sure Phoebe will make a better wife to the carrier for having
been a poultry-maid, and though good enough for most practical purposes
when I came here, I am an infinitely better woman now. I am afraid I was
not particularly nice the last few days at the Hydro. Such a lot of
dull, prosy, inquisitive, bothering old tabbies! Aunt Margaret
furnishing imaginary symptoms enough to keep a fond husband and two
trained nurses distracted; a man I had never encouraged in my life coming
to stay in the neighbourhood and turning up daily for rejection; another
man taking rooms at the very hotel with the avowed purpose of making my
life a burden; and on the heels of both, a widow of thirty-five in full
chase! Small wonder I thought it more dignified to retire than to
compete, and so I did.

I need not, however, have cut the threads that bound me to Oxenbridge
with such particularly sharp scissors, nor given them such a vicious
snap; for, so far as I can observe, the little world of which I imagined
myself the sun continues to revolve, and, probably, about some other
centre. I can well imagine who has taken up that delightful but somewhat
exposed and responsible position--it would be just like her!

{Threatened . . . to hatch in my hand: p51.jpg}

I am perfectly happy where I am; it is not that; but it seems so strange
that they can be perfectly happy without me, after all that they--after
all that was said on the subject not many days ago. Nothing turns out as
one expects. There have been no hot pursuits, no rewards offered, no
bills posted, no printed placards issued describing the beauty and charms
of a young person who supposed herself the cynosure of every eye. Heigh-
ho! What does it matter, after all? One can always be a Goose Girl!

* * * * *

I wonder if the hen mother is quite, quite satisfied with her ducklings!
Do you suppose the fact of hatching and brooding them breaks down all the
sense of difference? Does she not sometimes reflect that if her children
were the ordinary sort, and not these changelings, she would be enjoying
certain prett