od, and were sometimes full of fiery determination and
sometimes dull and opaque. Her expression was never altogether
amiable; was often, indeed, distinctly sullen, or, when she was
animated, sarcastic. She was most attractive in profile, for then
one saw to advantage her small, well-shaped head and delicate ears,
and felt at once that here was a very positive, if not an altogether
pleasing, personality.

The entire management of Mrs. Olaf's household devolved upon her
aunt, Johanna Vavrika, a superstitious, doting woman of fifty. When
Clara was a little girl her mother died, and Johanna's life had been
spent in ungrudging service to her niece. Clara, like many
self-willed and discontented persons, was really very apt, without
knowing it, to do as other people told her, and to let her destiny
be decided for her by intelligences much below her own. It was her
Aunt Johanna who had humored and spoiled her in her girlhood, who
had got her off to Chicago to study piano, and who had finally
persuaded her to marry Olaf Ericson as the best match she would be
likely to make in that part of the country. Johanna Vavrika had been
deeply scarred by smallpox in the old country. She was short and
fat, homely and jolly and sentimental. She was so broad, and took
such short steps when she walked, that her brother, Joe Vavrika,
always called her his duck. She adored her niece because of her
talent, because of her good looks and masterful ways, but most of
all because of her selfishness.

Clara's marriage with Olaf Ericson was Johanna's particular triumph.
She was inordinately proud of Olaf's position, and she found a
sufficiently exciting career in managing Clara's house, in keeping
it above the criticism of the Ericsons, in pampering Olaf to keep him
from finding fault with his wife, and in concealing from every one
Clara's domestic infelicities. While Clara slept of a morning,
Johanna Vavrika was bustling about, seeing that Olaf and the men had
their breakfast, and that the cleaning or the butter-making or the
washing was properly begun by the two girls in the kitchen. Then, at
about eight o'clock, she would take Clara's coffee up to her, and chat
with her while she drank it, telling her what was going on in the
house. Old Mrs. Ericson frequently said that her daughter-in-law would
not know what day of the week it was if Johanna did not tell her
every morning. Mrs. Ericson despised and pitied Johanna, but did not
wholly dislike her.