occurred in the Grey Room when I was
a child. Owing to the general vague feeling entertained against it,
we never put guests there, and so long ago as my father's day it was
relegated to a store place and lumber-store. But one Christmas, when we
were very full, there came quite unexpectedly on Christmas Eve an aunt
of my father--an extraordinary old character who never did anything that
might be foreseen. She had never come to the family reunion before, yet
appeared on this occasion, and declared that, as this was going to be
her last Christmas on earth, she had felt it right to join the clan--my
father being the head of the family. Her sudden advent strained our
resources, I suppose, but she herself reminded us of the Grey Room, and,
on hearing that it was empty, insisted on occupying it. The place is a
bedroom, and my father, who personally entertained no dislike or dread
of it, raised not the least objection to the strong-minded old lady's
proposal. She retired, and was found dead on Christmas morning. She had
not gone to bed, but was just about to do so, apparently, when she had
fallen down and died. She was eighty-eight, had undergone a lengthy
coach journey from Exeter, and had eaten a remarkably good dinner before
going to bed. Her maid was not suspected, and the doctor held her end
in no way unusual. It was certainly never associated with anything but
natural causes. Indeed, only events of much later date served to remind
me of the matter. Then one remembered the spoiled Christmas festivities
and the callous and selfish anger of myself and various other young
people that our rejoicings should be spoiled and Christmas shorn of all
its usual delights.

"But twelve years ago Mary fell ill of pneumonia--dangerously--and a
nurse had to be summoned in haste, since her own faithful attendant,
Jane Bond, who is still with us, could not attend her both day and
night. A telegram to the Nurses' Institute brought Mrs. Gilbert
Forrester--'Nurse Forrester,' as she preferred to be called. She was a
little bit of a thing, but most attractive and capable. She had been a
nurse before she married a young medical man, and upon his unfortunate
death she returned to her profession. She desired her bedroom to be as
near the patient as possible, and objected, when she found it arranged
at the other end of the corridor. 'Why not the next room?' she inquired;
and I had to tell her that the next room suffered from a bad name
and was not