,
to drag himself about the house. Martella took charge of all his
duties, and, what with this and her instructions from mother and
Annette, was kept quite busy; but she was never so happy and cheerful
as when full of work.

My wife took great pleasure in explaining to me what strange
counterparts Annette and Martella were.

Annette was endeavoring to free herself from the effects of overwrought
culture and to get back to simplicity. Martella, who had become
conscious of her own simplicity, was vexed thereat, and with iron
industry sought to acquire the rudiments of an education. Annette had
always lived out of herself; Martella had always lived within herself.
Annette had always tried to subject everything to critical analysis:
Martella was merely artless impressibility.

It was certainly a strange pair that my wife was teaching to keep step
with each other.

With great self-control Annette had accustomed herself to the quiet
winter life of the village. She often said that she would leave in a
few days. She seemed determined not to commit herself by any promise,
in order that she might from day to day make new resolutions. When I
told her that she was thus making both herself and us uncomfortable,
she promised to remain until I should advise her to leave. She admitted
that it was pleasant to her to be guided by another's will. She spun
assiduously, and, like a diligent child, showed me the result of her
labor.

The old spinner maintained that Annette was learning all the secrets of
her art. In spite of this, she was at times unable to control her
restless spirits. She had the snow cleared away from the pond, and went
skating on the ice, while half of the village stood around looking at
her. My sons had sometimes skated on this pond; but it was quite a
different sight to see the tall, handsome lady, with the black feather
in her hat and the closely fitting pelisse trimmed with fur. She
ordered a pair of skates for Martella, but could never induce the child
to try them.

Annette left us occasionally in order to spend a few days with Baroness
Arven. On her return it would always seem as if a wondrous change had
come over her.

One day she came back in great excitement and exclaimed:

"Oh, if I could only have faith! I think I shall have to administer
chloroform to my soul."

We could make no reply to this, and she soon again adapted herself to
the quiet tenor of our life.

I was obliged to introduce a chang