by the war, and
got poorer and poorer. With an old maid's usual crankiness and inability
to adapt herself to the order of things, Cousin Fanny remained behind.
She refused to come away; said, I believe, she had to look after the old
place, mammy, and Fash, or some such nonsense. I think she had some idea
that the church would go down, or that the poor people around would miss
her, or something equally unpractical. Anyhow, she stayed behind, and
lived for quite awhile the last of her connection in the county. Of
course all did the best they could for her, and had she gone to live
around with her relatives, as they wished her to do, they would have
borne with her and supported her. But she said no; that a single woman
ought never to live in any house but her father's or her own; and we
could not do anything with her. She was so proud she would not take
money as a gift from anyone, not even from her nearest relatives.

Her health got rather poor--not unnaturally, considering the way she
divided her time between doctoring herself and fussing after sick people
in all sorts of weather. With the fancifulness of her kind, she finally
took it into her head that she must consult a doctor in New York. Of
course, no one but an old maid would have done this; the home doctors
were good enough for everyone else. Nothing would do, however, but she
must go to New York; so, against the advice of everyone, she wrote to
a cousin who was living there to meet her, and with her old wraps, and
cap, and bags, and bundles, and stick, and umbrella, she started. The
lady met her; that is, went to meet her, but failed to find her at the
station, and supposing that she had not come, or had taken some other
railroad, which she was likely to do, returned home, to find her in bed,
with her "things" piled up on the floor. Some gentleman had come across
her in Washington, holding the right train while she insisted on taking
the wrong route, and had taken compassion on her, and not only escorted
her to New York, but had taken her and all her parcels and brought her
to her destination, where she had at once retired.

"He was a most charming man, my dear," she said to her cousin, who told
me of it afterward in narrating her eccentricities; "and to think of it,
I don't believe I had looked in a glass all day, and when I got here,
my cap had somehow got twisted around and was perched right over my left
ear, making me look a perfect fright. He told me his name