ok. The loggia floor was clothed
with rugs and furnished with chairs and sofas; and the uncompleted
surprise was there: in the form of a Christmas tree that was drenched
with silver film in a most wonderful way; and on a table was prodigal
profusion of bright things which she was going to hang upon it today.
What desecrating hand will ever banish that eloquent unfinished surprise
from that place? Not mine, surely. All these little matters have
happened in the last four days. "Little." Yes--THEN. But not now.
Nothing she said or thought or did is little now. And all the lavish
humor!--what is become of it? It is pathos, now. Pathos, and the thought
of it brings tears.

All these little things happened such a few hours ago--and now she
lies yonder. Lies yonder, and cares for nothing any more.
Strange--marvelous--incredible! I have had this experience before; but
it would still be incredible if I had had it a thousand times.

"MISS JEAN IS DEAD!"

That is what Katy said. When I heard the door open behind the bed's head
without a preliminary knock, I supposed it was Jean coming to kiss me
good morning, she being the only person who was used to entering without
formalities.

And so--

I have been to Jean's parlor. Such a turmoil of Christmas presents for
servants and friends! They are everywhere; tables, chairs, sofas, the
floor--everything is occupied, and over-occupied. It is many and many a
year since I have seen the like. In that ancient day Mrs. Clemens and
I used to slip softly into the nursery at midnight on Christmas Eve and
look the array of presents over. The children were little then. And now
here is Jean's parlor looking just as that nursery used to look. The
presents are not labeled--the hands are forever idle that would have
labeled them today. Jean's mother always worked herself down with her
Christmas preparations. Jean did the same yesterday and the preceding
days, and the fatigue has cost her her life. The fatigue caused the
convulsion that attacked her this morning. She had had no attack for
months.

Jean was so full of life and energy that she was constantly is danger
of overtaxing her strength. Every morning she was in the saddle by
half past seven, and off to the station for her mail. She examined the
letters and I distributed them: some to her, some to Mr. Paine, the
others to the stenographer and myself. She dispatched her share and then
mounted her horse again and went around superintending h