Between not knowing them
at all, and knowing them well enough to shake hands at first sight,
there is no ceremonious interval or formal gradation whatever. They
received us, on our arrival, exactly as if we were old friends returned
from some long traveling expedition. Before we had been ten minutes in
the hall, William had the easiest chair and the snuggest corner; the
children were eating bread-and-jam on the window-seat; and I was talking
to the farmer's wife, with the cat on my lap, of the time when Emily had
the measles.

The family numbers seven, exclusive of the indoor servants, of course.
First came the farmer and his wife--he is a tall, sturdy, loud-voiced,
active old man--she the easiest, plumpest and gayest woman of sixty I
ever met with. They have three sons and two daughters. The two eldest
of the young men are employed on the farm; the third is a sailor, and is
making holiday-time of it just now at Appletreewick. The daughters
are pictures of health and freshness. I have but one complaint to make
against them--they are beginning to spoil the children already.

In this tranquil place, and among these genial, natural people, how
happily my time might be passed, were it not for the saddening sight
of William's affliction, and the wearing uncertainty of how we are to
provide for future necessities! It is a hard thing for my husband and
me, after having had the day made pleasant by kind words and friendly
offices, to feel this one anxious thought always forcing itself on us at
night: Shall we have the means of stopping in our new home in a month's
time?

3d.--A rainy day; the children difficult to manage; William miserably
despondent. Perhaps he influenced me, or perhaps I felt my little
troubles with the children more than usual: but, however it was, I have
not been so heavy-hearted since the day when my husband first put on the
green shade. A listless, hopeless sensation would steal over me; but why
write about it? Better to try and forget it. There is always to-morrow
to look to when to-day is at the worst.

4th.--To-morrow has proved worthy of the faith I put in it. Sunshine
again out-of-doors; and as clear and true a reflection of it in my own
heart as I can hope to have just at this time. Oh! that month, that one
poor month of respite! What are we to do at the end of the month?

5th.--I made my short entry for yesterday in the afternoon just before
tea-time, little thinking of events destined to hap