in the kitchen, she sang as she worked, and the clatter of pots and
pans kept up a merry accompaniment. She had set the table the night
before, as usual, so it was not long before she had breakfast ready. Her
cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining when she came in with the
oatmeal.

"This is for you, Aunt Matilda--it isn't cooked quite so much. This is
for you, Grandmother. It's nice and soft, for I soaked it over night.
I'll have the eggs ready in just a minute."

When she went out, the other two exchanged glances. "What," asked
Grandmother, "do you reckon has got into Rosemary?"

[Sidenote: What Has Happened?]

"I don't know," returned Aunt Matilda, gloomily. "Do you suppose it's
religion?"

"I ain't never seen religion affect anybody like that, have you?'

"No, I ain't," Aunt Matilda admitted, after a moment's pondering.

"She reminds me of her ma," said Grandmother, reminiscently, "the day
Frank brought her home."

VI

More Stately Mansions

[Sidenote: A New Point of View]

The new joy surged in every heart-beat as Rosemary went up the Hill of
the Muses, late in the afternoon. Instinctively, she sought the place of
fulfilment, yearning to be alone with the memory of yesterday.

Nothing was wrong in all the world; nothing ever could be wrong any
more. She accepted the brown alpaca and the brown gingham as she did the
sordid tasks of every day. That morning, for the first time, it had been
a pleasure to wash dishes and happiness to build a fire.

Grandmother and Aunt Matilda had been annoyances to her ever since she
could remember. Their continual nagging had fretted her, their constant
restraint had chafed her, their narrowness had cramped her. To-day she
saw them from a new point of view.

Grandmother was no longer a malicious spirit of evil who took delight in
thwarting her, but a poor, fretful old lady whose soul was bound in
shallows. And Aunt Matilda? Rosemary's eyes filled at the thought of
Aunt Matilda, unloved and unsought. Nobody wanted her, she belonged to
nobody, in all her lonely life she had had nothing. She sat and listened
to Grandmother, she did the annual sewing, and day by day resented more
keenly the emptiness of her life. It was the conscious lack that made
them both cross. Rosemary saw it now, with the clear vision that had
come to her during the past twenty-four hours.

[Sidenote: The Joy of Living]

She wanted to be very kind to Grandmother and Aunt Matilda.