en I had typhoid fever? What
pleasure could I get out o' that old secretary that used to stand
yonder, when every time I looked at it I could see Grandfather Stearns
sittin' there writin' a mile-long sermon on election and predestination,
and me--a little child then--knowin' I'd have to sit up in church the
next Sunday and listen to that sermon, when I wanted to be out-doors
playin'?

"And besides my own associations, there was Mother's. She'd point out
that old armchair that used to stand by the west window and tell how
Uncle Abner Stearns set in that chair for six years after he was
paralyzed; and that old haircloth sofa,--you remember that, don't
you?--she'd tell how Grandmother Stearns was sittin' on that when she
had her stroke o' apoplexy; and betwixt the furniture and the
associations, it was jest like livin' in a cemetery. I told Mother one
day that I was tired o' sittin' in my great-grandfather's chairs, and
sleepin' on my great-grandfather's bed, and eatin' out o' my
great-grandmother's china and silver, and Mother says: 'Samantha, you
never did have proper respect for your family.' But, Maria Marvin, I
tell you as I told Mother, I'm somethin' more than a Member of the
Family: I'm Myself, and I want to live my own life, and I've found out
that if people live their own lives, they've got to get from under the
shadow of their ancestors' tombstones.

"What did I do with the old mahogany? Sold it. That's what I did. And if
you've got any old stuff up in the garret or down in the cellar or out
in the woodshed, get it out right away, for no matter how old and
battered and broken up it is, you can sell it for a good price. They
tell me, Maria, that new-fashioned things is all out o' fashion, and
old-fashioned things is in the fashion. Curious, ain't it? All my life I
been findin' fault with Mother because she was always hoardin' up old
family relics, and now all the rich folks are huntin' around in every
crack and corner for old mahogany and old cherry and old
walnut,--anything, jest so it's old.

"You've heard about that rich lady that's bought the old Schuyler place?
Here's her card with her name on it:

_Mrs. Edith A. Van Arnheim._

"Well, last Monday mornin' about this time, jest as I was finishin' up
my mornin' work, I heard a knockin' at the front door, and when I opened
it there stood a strange lady all dressed in silks and satins and a
young girl with her. I said 'Good mornin',' and she said: 'Does