“He had a pet dove—we called it Daisy. It was hatched late in autumn, in the barn, and he brought it to the house, to keep it from freezing. He fed it with his own hands, and much trouble it gave him. It learned to know him, and often went with him in his walks, perched upon his shoulder, and when he went to college, he carried it with him. So in his daily life, he bore with him patience, pity and love, which shone in his face and blossomed into good deeds to those about him.
“But aunt Marion was the comedy of the house. I think she never knew where any thing was; and, much as we loved her, pleasant as she was, we avoided her as much as possible, for fear of being sent upon explorations after missing articles. There was no occasion for giving us lectures upon order where Auntie was. She was a living lesson to us against carelessness. She was full of childlike spirits and bright ways, perfectly simple and ingenuous, a charming woman; but the one fault had mastered her completely; it had grown with her growth, strengthened with her strength, and was the drop of bitterness in the cup of happiness which we all drank there.
“If we sat down to read—the luckless individual who first caught her attention had no sooner become interested, than her voice roused him with,
“‘Robbie, have you seen my ball of yarn? perhaps Carlo carried it into the garden: I had it on the piazza the last time I saw it. Do run and get it.’
“A moment more, it would be:
“‘Cora, do you know where my thimble is? I had it in the kitchen when I went to see about the pudding. Ask Jane for it.’ Or,
“‘Mary, do run up to my room and see if you can find my other slipper. I had to put on one of your uncle’s this morning. I could not see mine.’ Or,
“‘Where do you suppose I left my clean linen collars? Sarah certainly brought them up stairs yesterday, and I have not seen them since.’
“My uncle Bell was exceedingly orderly and systematic. This failing of his wife’s annoyed him. He never could depend upon her for being in time, or entirely ready for any thing, and lived in a state of continual discomfort. One of aunt Marion’s coaxing smiles used to disarm him and chase the frowns away, for the time, only to return, when dinner was late, the dessert forgotten, or Auntie was absent at prayers because she could not find her morning dress. I remember once sitting and speculating upon the best way of remedying all the evil and trouble arising from this failing, till aunt Marion, struck by my thoughtfulness, asked me what made me so quiet.
“‘I was wondering why you don’t know where your things are, when it is so easy and would make every body more comfortable,’ I told her.