her low chair. She took no notice of me whatever.

"Aunt Hetty!"

No answer.

"Aunt Hetty!" This time I spoke louder.

Still she rocked back and forth, apparently as deaf as a post. I grew
desperate, and, going up to her, put my hand on her shoulder, saying:

"_Aunt Hetty_, aren't we to have our dinner? The fire seems to be out."

She shook off my hand and slowly rose, looking glum and preoccupied.

"Didn't hear no orders for dinner, Miss Alice."

"Now, Aunt Hetty," I remonstrated, "why will you be so horrid? You know
I am the housekeeper when mother is away, and you're going to spoil
everything, and make her wish she hadn't gone. _How_ can I manage if you
won't help? Come, be good," I pleaded.

But nothing moved her from her stony indifference, and I went back to
grandmamma in despair. I was about to pour all my woes in her ear, but a
glance at her pale face restrained me.

She was going to have a regular Van Doren headache.

"We never have headaches like other people."

How many times I have heard my aunts and uncles say this in just these
words! They do not think me half a Van Doren because, owing to my
mother's way of bringing me up, I have escaped the family infliction. In
fact, I am half a Neilson, and the Neilsons are a healthy everyday set,
who do not have aches and pains, and are seldom troubled with nerves.
Plebeian, perhaps, but very comfortable.

I rushed back to the den of Aunt Hetty, as I now styled the kitchen. She
was pacing back and forth like a lioness in a cage at a show, singing an
old plantation melody. That was a sign that her fit of temper was worse
than ever. Little I cared.

"Hetty Van Doren," I said, "stop sulking and singing! There isn't time
for either. Poor grandmamma has a fearful headache, and you and I will
have to take care of her. Put some water on to boil, and then come up to
her room and help me. And don't sing 'Go down, Moses,' another minute."

I had used two arguments which were powerful with Aunt Hetty. One was
calling her Hetty Van Doren. She liked to be considered as belonging to
the family, and no compliment could have pleased her more. She often
said she belonged to the Kentucky _noblesse_, and held herself far above
common trash.

The other was my saying you and I. She was vexed that mother had left
me--a baby, in her opinion--to look after the house, and rather resented
my assuming to be the mistress. By my happy form of speech I pleased the
droll old woma