“Now, Aunt Joyce, I would you had not said that!”
“Why, Milly?”
“By reason that things which be profitable be alway dry and gloomsome.”
“Not alway, Lettice Eden’s daughter.”
I could not help but smile when Aunt Joyce said this. For indeed, Mother hath oft told us how, when she was a young maid like Milly, she did sorely hate all gloom and sorrowfulness, nor could not abide for to think thereon. And Milly is much of that turn.
“Then which of us shall keep the grand chronicle?” saith Edith, when we had made an end of laughing.
“Why not all of you?” quoth Aunt Joyce. “Let each keep it a month a-piece, turn about.”
“And you, Aunt Joyce?”
“Nay, I will keep no chronicles. I would not mind an’ I writ my thoughts down of the last page, when it was finished.”
“But who shall read it?” said I.