process. Work was
pressing. Not exactly the work, either, but the need of it. No, I mean
the necessity of it. It was the need of funds that was pressing--that is
what I have been trying to convey. With all the buying and improving,
and the loads of new indispensables that Westbury was constantly
bringing from the nearest town of size, the exchequer was running low. I
am not really so lazy, once I get started, but I have a constitutional
hesitancy in the matter of getting started. My will and enthusiasm are
both in good supply, but my ability to sit down and really begin is
elusive.

It was especially so that winter; there were so many excuses for not
getting started. Mornings I would rise firm in the resolve that the day
and hour were at hand. After breakfast I would determinedly start for
the room behind the chimney. Unfortunately I had to pass through our
"best room" to get there. There was certain to be a picture or something
a little out of place in that room. Whatever it was, it must be attended
to. It would annoy me to leave a thing like that unremedied. One's mind
must be quite untrammeled to condense. Sometimes I had to rearrange
several of the pictures, and straighten the books, and pull the rugs
around a little, before I felt ready for the condensing process. But
then I would be certain to notice something out in the yard that was not
in place. We took a pride in our yard. Once outside, one thing generally
led to another, and in the course of time I would be pawing over stuff
in the barn. Then it was about luncheon-time--it would hardly be worth
starting the condensing business till afterward.

Perhaps I would actually get into the room behind the chimney after
luncheon, but one could not begin work until the fire was replenished
and a supply of wood brought. Then while one was at it one might as well
get in a supply of fuel for the other fires, so as to have a clear
afternoon for a good substantial beginning.

Oh, well, you see where all those paltry subterfuges ended. It was the
easiest thing in the world to remember something I wanted to tell
Westbury--something important--and our telephone lines were not yet
connected. It would be about five when I got back, and of course one
could not start a piece of work late in the day when one was all worn
out. To-morrow, bright and early, would be the time.

Then, just as likely as not, to-morrow would be one of those bad-luck
days. In a diary which I kept at the