lection, which she called, "my good neighbor"
or "my dear neighbor." It was also her mania to sing with a most
excessive ardor the Marseillaise, the Parisiennes, the "Song of
Farewell," and all the noble songs of the transition time, which had
been the rage in her young womanhood.

During these exciting times she had lived quietly, and had occupied
herself entirely with her household cares and her son's education. For
that reason it seems the more singular that from her disordered mind,
just about as it was to take its journey into complete darkness and to
become disintegrated through death, there should come this tardy echo of
that tempestuous time.

I enjoyed listening to her very much and often I would laugh, but
without any irreverence, and I never was the least afraid of her. She
was extremely lovely and had delicate and regular features, and her
expression was very sweet. Her abundant hair was silver-gray, and upon
her cheeks there was a color similar to that of a faded rose leaf,
a color which the old people of that generation often retained into
extreme old age. I remember that she usually wore a red cashmere shawl
about her shoulders, and that she always had on an old-fashioned cap
trimmed with green ribbons. There was something very modest and gentle
and pleasing about her still graceful little body.

Her room, where I liked to come to play because it was so large and
sunny, was furnished as simply as a Presbyterian parsonage: the waxed
walnut furniture was of the Directory period, the large bed had a canopy
of thick, red, cotton stuff and the walls were painted an ochre yellow;
and upon them in gilt frames, slightly tarnished, were hung water colors
representing vases of flowers. I very soon discovered that this room
was furnished in a very simple and old-fashioned way, and I thought to
myself that the good old grandmother who sang so constantly must be much
poorer than my other grandmother, who was younger by twenty years,
and who always dressed in black--which last matter seemed an elegant
distinction to me.

But to return to my drawings! I think that the pictures of those two
ducks, occupying such different stations in life, were the first I ever
drew.

At the bottom of the picture called "The Happy Duck" I had drawn a tiny
house, and near the duck himself there was a large, kind woman who was
calling him to her so that she might give him food.

"The Unhappy Duck," on the other hand, was swimming ab