effectually out of my head. Like all babies, he was
something of a tyrant; but that brief, sweet despotism ends only too
soon. I put him gratefully down, dimpled, chubby, and imperious, upon
the list of my girlhood's teachers.

My sister had no domestic help besides mine, so I learned a good deal
about general housework. A girl's preparation for life was, in those
days, considered quite imperfect, who had no practical knowledge of
that kind. We were taught, indeed, how to do everything that a woman
might be called upon to do under any circumstances, for herself or for
the household she lived in. It was one of the advantages of the old
simple way of living, that the young daughters of the house were, as a
matter of course, instructed in all these things. They acquired the
habit of being ready for emergencies, and the family that required no
outside assistance was delightfully independent.

A young woman would have been considered a very inefficient being who
could not make and mend and wash and iron her own clothing, and get
three regular meals and clear them away every day, besides keeping the
house tidy, and doing any other needed neighborly service, such as
sitting all night by a sick-bed. To be "a good watcher" was considered
one of the most important of womanly attainments. People who lived side
by side exchanged such services without waiting to be asked, and they
seemed to be happiest of whom such kindnesses were most expected.

Every kind of work brings its own compensations and attractions. I
really began to like plain sewing; I enjoyed sitting down for a whole
afternoon of it, fingers flying and thoughts flying faster still,--the
motion of the hands seeming to set the mind astir. Such afternoons used
to bring me throngs of poetic suggestions, particularly if I sat by an
open window and could hear the wind blowing and a bird or two singing.
Nature is often very generous in opening her heart to those who must
keep their hands employed. Perhaps it is because she is always quietly
at work herself, and so sympathizes with her busy human friends. And
possibly there is no needful occupation which is wholly unbeautiful.
The beauty of work depends upon the way we meet it--whether we arm
ourselves each morning to attack it as an enemy that must be vanquished
before night comes, or whether we open our eyes with the sunrise to
welcome it as an approaching friend who will keep us delightful company
all day, and who will