to keep the
nerves in a good condition,--"eight hours at the most and seven would
be better." What earthly good would a seven-hour nap do me? I want ten
hours to sleep and twelve if I get a good tired start. To see me stagger
out of my perfectly nice bed at six o'clock every morning now would
wring the sternest heart with compassion and admiration at my
faithfulness--to whom?

Yes, it was the day after poor Mr. Carter's funeral that Aunt Adeline
moved up here into my house and settled herself in the big south room
across the hall from mine. Her furniture weighs a ton each piece, and
Aunt Adeline is not light herself in disposition. The next morning when
I went in to breakfast she sat in the "vacant chair" in a way that made
me see that she was obviously trying to fill the vacancy. I am sorry she
worried herself about that. Anyway, it made me take a resolve. After
breakfast I went into the kitchen to speak to Judy.

"Judy," I said, looking past her head, "my health is not very good and
you can bring my breakfast to me in bed after this." Poor Mr. Carter
always wanted breakfast on the stroke of seven, and me at the same time,
though he rarely got me. Judy has two dead husbands and she likes a
ginger-colored barber down-town. Also her mother is our washerwoman
and influenced by Aunt Adeline. Judy understands everything I say to
her. After I had closed the door I heard a laugh that sounded like a
war-whoop, and I smiled to myself. But that was before my martyrdom to
this book had begun. I get up now!

But the day after I came from the city I lay in bed just as long as I
wanted to and ignored the thought of the exercises and deep breathing
and the icy unsympathetic tub. I couldn't even take very much interest
in the lonely egg on the lonely slice of dry toast. I was thinking about
things.

Hillsboro is a very peculiar little speck on the universe; even more
peculiar than being like a hen. It is one of the oldest towns in
Tennessee and the moss on it is so thick that it can't be scratched off
except in spots. But it has a lot of racehorse and distillery money in
it and when it gets poked up by anything unusual it takes a gulp of its
own alcoholic atmosphere and runs away on its own track at a two-five
gait, shedding moss as it goes. It hasn't had a real joy-race for a long
time and I felt that it needed it. I rolled over and laughed into my
pillow.

The subject of the conduct of widows is a serious one. Of all the thing