upon it
the stamp of her character, incessant industry and good taste; to fill
it gradually with the things she loved best or admired most, and to be
always there, ready for the children or the grandchildren to come home.

But she gave up this ambition at a hint of delicacy in a child's face,
and a note of anxiety in a husband's voice, and took to packing trunks
to go somewhere, and unpacking them when they arrived. Of course she
couldn't do this to all of them, for we moved with very many, but there
were certain ones to which she would let nobody put hand but
herself--my father's, my sister's, mine, and her own. And you always
knew that if you had accidentally left letters and notes in your
pockets that you didn't want seen, they wouldn't be.

My father would almost abuse her for doing so much work with her own
hands, and for always being up so early, but in secret he was very
proud of her; and to see her dressed for the dance or the opera, eager
and gay as a girl, slender and beautiful, her head very high and
fearless, you would have thought that she had never done anything in
all her life, but be pampered and groomed and sheltered.

Upon one good old-fashioned custom they were in firm agreement. They
always slept in the same bed; they do still. And they will lie in the
same grave.

Whichever home it was that we happened to be inhabiting, unless out of
season because of my sister, it was always pretty well filled with
people. My father loved people, and my mother got to love them for his
sake. For my part, until very recently, I have always hated to be
alone. Flint is a gloomy solitary, but when he meets with Steel there
are sparks.

I suppose there are brooding lovers of knowledge in this world who are
fonder of their own than of any other company. But most people can
only think half thoughts and need other people to complete them. It is
amusing enough to knock a ball against a wall, and a wonderful help in
the perfection of strokes, but it is far more amusing to face somebody
across a net and play lawn tennis.

My father and mother always hoped that I would be a great man, and even
now they hope that I may one day turn over a new leaf. Unfortunately
there was no greatness in me, and as for those leaves of my life which
I have not yet read, they are uncut, and I am always mislaying the
paper knife. And whether the matter on the next leaf or the one after
will be new or not, is for the future to kno