ultry yard and dairy, and was putting her children to bed,
then Aunt Sukey, Rosemary and the negro girl, Henny, would retire into
Aunt Sukey's room, to utilize the lingering light of the short winter day
by working at whatever tasks were on hand, for never did holiday begin
until the candle should be lighted.

It was some homely, country work always. And Aunt Sukey would probably be
knitting. Rosemary sewing together scraps for a patchwork quilt and the
negro girl, Henny, seated on a stool, would be engaged in winding off the
yarn from a "jack" into balls.

It was usually little Rosemary who would give the signal for stopping
work, by saying, in pleading tones:

"Aunt Sukey, ain't it most time to let down the blinds and light the
candle?"

Whereupon the negro girl would set her reel jack in the corner, and untie
and drop the paper blinds before the two windows, and light the tallow dip
on the mantelpiece.

Rosemary would roll up her "pieces," and put away her work in a little
homemade chip basket, which she would hang upon its own nail.

Last of all, Aunt Sukey would draw her knitting needle from its sheaf,
roll up the half-finished stocking, and put it away in a workbag hanging
on a hook, near the chimney corner.

And then began the dissipations of the evening. Innocent enough
dissipations, though they were howled at by some folks.

Aunt Sukey would resume her seat in the rocker.

Henny would set a little table near her mistress, and place on it the
lighted candle and a pair of snuffers.

Rosemary would bring out from the top drawer of the bureau a hoarded and
treasured volume, and lay it beside them.

Then, when all were seated--the lady in her rocker, the child on a little
chair at her feet, and the negro girl on the floor in the corner of the
chimney--Aunt Sukey would open the book, and begin where she left off the
night before, and go on with the fortunes of "Evelina," "Camilla,"
"Clarissa Harlowe," or "Amanda Fitzallen," as the case might be; novels,
which, however excellent in themselves, would scarcely be read in these
days, though in those they were "devoured," so much so that if one of them
appeared in any house, it was sure to go the round of the whole county,
and be read to rags before it got home again, if it ever did. In this
respect the neighborhood was a free, unorganized, irresponsible
circulating library.

Aunt Sukey bought some books, lent some, and borrowed some, but never kept
any.