or finish a story before making her toilet. Why
not accomplish the toilet first, to be sure of it--any time remaining, for
the other purposes? She didn't _like_ to do so. No philosopher could tell
why. It is an unaccountable, mysterious something, rooted deep in some
people's natures--this aversion to being beforehand. I have seen it in
other people since the time when it so puzzled and troubled me in Jenny.
It marred the pleasure of the visit most miserably. I was continually
fearing the displeasure of my father and the discomfort of my mother. The
whole household were disturbed by what seemed to them downright rudeness.

"Now, Jenny," I would plead, "do be early, dear, when papa comes with the
carriage. It annoys him dreadfully to wait."

She would promise to "try."

"But pray, Jenny, why need you have to try. It is easy enough. For my
part, I never will make any one wait for me. I go without being ready, if
need be, or I stay behind."

I had come to talk very plainly to her, out of love and good-will, as well
as, sometimes, from vexation of spirit. For the twentieth time she would
tell me how truly she had meant to be punctual in some given case, and
that she should have been so but that she was hindered when nearly ready
by some unforeseen occurrence.

"But, my dear, unforeseen hindrances will often occur, and you must lay
your account with them, and give yourself extra time. You will run the
risk of meeting some great calamity by trusting, as you do, to the last
minute."

And the calamity did befall her. Mr. Allibone spent a day with us. We were
anticipating with great pleasure a second visit, when a telegram arrived
requesting Jenny to meet him in Boston on the succeeding morning. A
business emergency had summoned him abroad very suddenly, and he was to
embark for Liverpool in the evening.

We all sympathized with Jenny in the startling effect of this sudden
announcement, and offered her every sort of help when the hour for her
departure was at hand. She had only to compose herself and prepare for the
journey. Sister Bell would arrange her hair and bring her dress, and she
would be spared all effort. She seemed grateful, but was sure she could be
ready without troubling any one. She dreamed not how much she was, even
then, troubling us, for we were beginning to tremble lest she should
somehow manage to be late for this, her only train.

She kissed us all twice over when the hackman arrived at the door; bu