ance as there was at Mrs. Henry Lister’s funeral last week. When I told Aunt Laura this, she said gravely,
“‘All this may be true, Emily’—(she knew it was!)—‘but somehow it doesn’t seem quite right for so young a girl as you, to—to—to be able to see these things, in short.’
“However, I can’t help seeing them. Darling Aunt Laura is always so sorry for people that she can’t see their humorous side. But I saw other things too. I saw that little Zack Fritz, whom Mrs. Paul adopted and was very kind to, was almost broken-hearted, and I saw that Martha Paul was feeling sorry and ashamed to think of her bitter old quarrel with Mrs. Paul—and I saw that Mrs. Paul’s face, that looked so discontented and thwarted | in life, looked peaceful and majestic and even beautiful—as if Death had satisfied her at last.
“Yes, funerals are interesting.
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“It is snowing a little tonight. I love to see the snow coming down in slanting lines against the dark trees.
“I think I did a good deed today. Jason Merrowby was here helping Cousin Jimmy saw wood—and I saw him sneak into the pighouse, and take a sung from a whiskey bottle. But I did not say one word about it to any one—that is my good deed.
“Perhaps I ought to tell Aunt Elizabeth, but if I did she would never have him again, and he needs all the work he can get, for his poor wife’s and children’s sakes. I find it is not always easy to be sure whether your deeds are good or bad.
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“Yesterday Aunt Elizabeth was very angry because I would not write an ‘obituary poem’ for old Peter DeGeer who died last week. Mrs. DeGeer came here and asked me to do it. I wouldn’t—I felt very indignant at such a request. I felt it would be a desecration of my art to do
