ther homemade or
the kind that fizzes. I didn't mind that a bit for I like lemonade, both
sorts, but father simply hated it. He told me he'd rather go up to that
nursing home in Dublin every time he feels ill than live through another
six months on lemonade. Before that she was frightfully keen on a thing
called uric acid. Do you know what that is, Cousin Frank?" "No," he
said, "I don't. How did it take her?" "She wouldn't give us anything to
eat," said Priscilla, "except queer sort of mashes which she said were
made of nuts and biscuits and things. I got quite thin and as weak as
a cat." "I wonder you stuck it out." "Oh, it didn't last long. None of
them do, you know. That's our great consolation; though we rather hope
the Christian Science will on account of its doing us no particular
harm. She doesn't mind what we eat or drink, which is a great comfort.
She can't you know, according to her principles, because when there's
no such thing as being sick it can't matter how much whipped cream or
anything of that sort you eat just before you go to bed at night. She
didn't like it a bit when I got up on Christmas night and foraged out
nearly a quarter of a cold plum pudding. She was just going up to bed
and she caught me. She wanted awfully to stop me eating it, but she
couldn't without giving the whole show away, so I ate it before her very
eyes. That's the beauty of Christian Science." "But I say, Priscilla,
weren't you sick?" "Not a bit When Father heard about it next morning
he said he thought there must be something in Aunt Juliet's theory after
all. He has stuck to that ever since, though he says it doesn't apply to
influenza. She had a great idea about fresh air one time, and got up a
carpenter to take the window frames, windows and all, clean out of
my room. I used to have to borrow hairpins from Rose--she's the under
housemaid and a great friend of mine--so as to fasten the bedclothes on
to the mattress. Otherwise they blew away during the night, while I
was asleep. That was one of the worst times we ever had, though I don't
think Father minded it so much. He used to go out and smoke in the
harness room. But I hated it worse than anything except the uric acid.
You never knew where your clothes would be in the morning if it was the
least stormy, and my hair used to blow into soup and tea and things,
which made it frightfully sticky."

"Do you think," said Frank, "that she'll leave me alone now? Or will she
want to h