nd seven
would be better." What earthly good would a seven-hour nap do me? I want
ten hours to sleep and twelve if I get a good tired start. To see me
stagger out of my perfectly nice bed at six o'clock every morning now
would wring the sternest heart with compassion and admiration at my
faithfulness--to whom?

Yes, it was the day after poor Mr. Carter's funeral that Aunt Adeline
moved up here into my house and settled herself in the big south room
across the landing from mine. Her furniture weighs a ton each piece, and
Aunt Adeline is not light herself in disposition. The next morning, when
I went in to breakfast she sat in the "vacant chair" in a way that made
me see that she was obviously trying to fill the vacancy. I am sorry she
worried herself about that. Anyhow, it made me take a resolve. After
breakfast, I went into the kitchen to speak to Jane.

"Jane," I said, looking past her head, "my health is not very good, and
you can bring my breakfast to me in bed after this." Poor Mr. Carter
always wanted breakfast on the stroke of seven. Jane has buried
husbands. Also her mother is our washerwoman, and influenced by Aunt
Adeline. Jane understands everything I say to her. After I had closed
the door I heard a laugh that sounded like a war-whoop, and I smiled to
myself. But that was before my martyrdom to this book had begun. I get
up now!

But the day after I came from London I lay in bed just as long as I
wanted to, and ignored the thought of the exercises and deep breathing
and the icy unsympathetic tub. I couldn't even take very much interest
in the lonely egg on the lonely slice of dry toast. I was thinking about
things.

Hillsboro is a very peculiar little speck on the universe; even more
peculiar than being like a hen. It is one of the oldest towns in the
North, and the moss on it is so thick that it can't be scratched off
except in spots. But when it does get stirred up to take an interest in
anything, it certainly goes the pace. It hasn't had any real excitement
for a long time, and I felt that it needed it. I rolled over and laughed
into my pillow.

The subject of the conduct of widows is a serious one. Of all the things
old Tradition is most set about, it is that; and what was decided to be
the proper thing a million years ago this town still dictates shall be
done, and spends a good deal of its time seeing its directions carried
out.

For a year after the funeral they forget about the poor bereaved,