ptember 3._--Our summer company is gone, and Aunt Bethiah is glad. We
are having longer evenings. When the candles are lit Frederic bids mammy
good night and goes off. Sometimes she sits up and puts on her
spectacles, and reads Watts's hymns loud to daddy. Aunt Bethiah pares
apples and slices them, and Elinor strings them up with a
darning-needle. I am tired and sit in the chimney-corner to rest.

Yesterday Mr. Colman preached again, and to-day he took supper at our
house,--rainy, and out of his way too! He was unmannerly enough to
address most of his remarks to a young person when her elders were
present. So seldom, too, as daddy has a chance to talk with an
out-of-town minister! He is not at all good-looking. His hair is
yellowish and stands up stiff on his forehead, and his eyes are no
color. I don't see how he can be agreeable to any young girl. But being
a minister goes a good ways.

I knew mammy would ask him to stay to tea. As soon as anybody comes, no
matter if it is only in the middle of the afternoon, she always says,
"Now take your things right off. Come, Bethiah, clap on the tea-kettle,
and we'll have tea airly." They say she was always just so about liking
to have company.

* * * * *

_October 18._--Mr. Scott has begun to come here evenings. He owns a
house and farm and wood-lot. His wife left him no children, and he lives
in a lonely house all alone; and poor enough company he must find
himself.

He comes here and sits all the evening, talking with daddy and looking
at Elinor. Poor hand at talking, though,--so dull and heavy both in
looks and words. I wonder what countryman he is. Very dark and
thick-set. That doesn't seem like any country in particular. Captain
Welles would know; for his father picked him up among the wharves in
London, a little ragged boy, running about.

But then who cares what he is? He needn't trouble himself about
remembering the heads of the sermon to tell mammy. I always have done
it, and can yet. If he's a mind to scratch his hands getting
sarsaparilla and snapwood for her off his wood-lot, he may. Have no
objection, either, to his bringing Elinor boxberry plums. I never read
yet of any maiden losing her heart on boxberry plums; though, to be
sure, he might bewitch them. He looks like that.

* * * * *

_November 21._--So Winter is coming in earnest. Well, we are all ready
for him. Garret and cellar, both barns