she had a better
view of his back than of his face. He never named her, nor was she ever
mentioned in the establishment by her lawful cognomen, but was always
spoken of as "she," representing alone, as she did, her own sex in the
poorhouse.

It seemed to her a wonder that with all her claims to respectability she
had ever found her way to her present home. The walls of her room were
decorated with silhouettes of this or that grand personage in whose
service she had enjoyed the honour of being in days of yore. Such
mementoes failing her, there were coveted seals to letters, or paper
headings cut out and duly pointed at the edges, to shine forth from red
backgrounds. A daguerreotype of herself, in all the buxom freshness of
youth and the "bravery" of a gaily-adorned peasant costume, was always
to be seen standing on her bureau half open, like the book of an
absent-minded scholar disturbed in his researches. Her pretensions
imposed not a little upon the cellar-master, who treated her with a
certain respect; but the poet was unmindful of her social claims, and
perhaps took a pleasure in showing his independence of her rule. Rule it
was, for she condescended to cook for "those poor men folks," as she
called them.

Not that her cooking was ever of an elaborate order--coffee and porridge
being the only dainties on which she was permitted to display her full
powers. Warming up and making over other dishes kindly sent in by
benevolent neighbours she did to perfection, and showed in this matter
an ingenuity most remarkable. When, however, she took in the meals she
had prepared for the various recipients, it was with a studied
ungraciousness, abated only for the cellar-master, who, as she said, had
a respectable title of his own, and was suitable company for her.

Johanson, who had come to his present abode empty-handed, provided
himself by degrees with needful articles of clothing of the simplest
sort, as well as necessities for the toilet and the writing-table. The
pen was much in his hand. It was used occasionally for a letter to the
nearest large city, and such a missive was generally followed by a
parcel, which was stowed away at once in the capacious chest appointed
for his use.

The cellar-master was sure that it was on sheets ruled like music-paper
that Johanson was almost constantly writing, though they were locked up
in his chest almost before they were fairly dry. He did not seem to be a
reader, but the objectiona